


Illumination

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [39]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:49:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serenity was rare for him, but it did not preclude him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illumination

**Author's Note:**

> omg this chapter took forever, but also there is college and podlings and med problems and Fweeeeee. (I'm hoping the next one will be up at the end of the month, but THINGS.)
> 
> Special thanks to Ataraxetta, who made certain that a particular scene went from innocent to devastating. 
> 
> Beta: ~~Mostly unbeta'd at the moment except for~~ read-throughs provided by Atarexetta and Norcumi, and a beta provided now by MerryAmelie.
> 
> (Everyone thought the Valentine's Day posting was intentional. I'd forgotten all about it.)
> 
> See Notes at the end for minor Warning.

“So! We’re back to this.”

Obi-Wan gave his companion a look of patient tolerance. “Back to what?”

Ulic smirked at him. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse. You’re cute, but that’s annoying.”

“Perhaps I just want you to be more specific,” Obi-Wan countered. They were walking through the high grass of the field. A few steps to the left, the cliff fell away without warning—a vivid, stark reminder that he’d nearly died a few days ago. It should have bothered him, to have so many close calls in one go, but it seemed the Clone Wars had created a habit that would not fade, no matter how much time had passed.

Ulic and Obi-Wan had walked this path through the grass several times in the past three days, but the grass and earth swallowed up their steps, always making it seem as if no one had passed that way at all. If a new trail were to be carved down to stone, it was going to take a long time to make it.

“Back to that point after the block’s destruction, but before Fire,” Ulic said.

“No.” Obi-Wan held up his hand, without slowing his steps. It only took a moment’s concentration to call forth lightning. The tiny, swirling mass of electricity remained centered in his palm, though blue sparks and jagged lines kept trying to escape. “I think we’re a bit beyond that, actually.”

“True,” Ulic admitted.

Obi-Wan shook the energy away, letting it dissipate harmlessly into the air. “Do you think I should stop?”

“Stop channeling Darkness?” Ulic smiled and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. My perspective isn’t exactly the same as that of the living.”

“Perhaps theirs should be more like yours,” Obi-Wan said, glancing up at the sky. It was a deep blue, with no hint of storm or rain.

“You don’t need to be asking me this shit, Kid,” Ulic said in a frank voice. “You have no intention of stopping.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “No, I don’t.” Without the terrible impetus of borderline sanity, channeling Darkness felt just as natural as using the Light of the Force. It was against everything he had ever been taught as a Jedi, and yet it still felt as if he was making the right decision.

He also knew, with absolute certainty, that there was a difference between his experiments now and the things Sidious did with the Force. There was anger, and then there was utter rot.

Ulic nodded, unsurprised. “There is no Living Force, just as there is no Unifying Force. The Force is all things, something you have long known. I’ve watched it happen, and I still don’t know how the Jedi of your time came to exclusively shut out an entire part of the Force. Qui-Gon’s skills should not have been denigrated. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

They both glanced up as a white bird flew overhead, emitting its peculiar, squalling cry. That was another thing Obi-Wan was marking in his favor; the wildlife that had been utterly absent from the island during his first weeks here was beginning to return. Qui-Gon didn’t want to speak of it, but Obi-Wan knew his state of mind, the pain he’d bled into the Force, had kept them all away.

“However,” Ulic continued, after the bird had settled onto the pile of ocean-claimed rock, “there is also no Dark side, and no Light side. A lot of the great philosophers would butt heads over this in the worst way, even in my semi-enlightened time, about how such a thing could be, but it was still an accepted consensus among many of the Masters.” Ulic glanced at him. “But, I think you’ve figured that out, too.”

“I’ve been…considering it,” Obi-Wan conceded, even though the idea was close to blasphemy even in regards to his own experiences.

“I know. It’s argued that because a place can be of the Light, or of the Dark, then those sides of the Force _have_ to exist,” Ulic said. They left the seaside grasses behind, stepping down onto the solid rock where the original path picked up again. “But that discounts the fact that someone using those _aspects_ of the Force can saturate a location. It’s the same idea of a Force-user saturating an object, as both Jedi and Sith do with their holocrons, but the difference in scale really fucks with people’s heads.

“You’ve been on Mortis for a while now.” Ulic looked at Obi-Wan from the corner of his eye. “Would you consider Mortis to be of the Light, or of the Dark?”

“Both,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and then hesitated. “Or perhaps neither.”

Ulic smiled, pleased with the answer. “Mortis is a nexus—a wellspring, and thus it is of the Force, and the Force merely is.”

“But the River of Light on Rishi, or the Temple wellspring—”

“Have both been saturated by Light,” Ulic interrupted. “It’s in the name of the first, and the latter has had several millennia of Jedi parked over it. That sort of influence soaks in, even if you don’t mean it to. Rishi’s river wellspring has been honored and revered for centuries by Light-aligned peoples and religions. The reverse can also happen. Do you know of Lake Natth, on Ambria?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Can’t say that I do.”

“Not surprised.” Ulic shrugged. “Some things just get forgotten. The lake was a wellspring, and a powerful one, when Master Thon discovered it. However, Thon also found that Ambria housed several powerful spirits of the Sith, escapees from the fall of the Sith Empire. He lured them into its waters by allowing himself a temporary Fall to the Dark side, and then trapped the bastards in the wellspring using a technique that to this _day_ I don’t understand.”

“And this was Nomi Sunrider’s teacher,” Obi-Wan said in amazement. Gods, but sometimes he hated how much of the Order’s history had been twisted, or left out entirely. A temporary Fall would be unthinkable to most Jedi he knew, and that was even among those who were aware of Venge.

“Yeah.” Ulic grinned. “Takes one cunning fucker to teach another.” The grin faded. “There were certain side-effects. The solution was good for Ambria as a whole, but the wellspring was utterly corrupted by the Darkness of the souls trapped within it. The Hssiss were born of that lake.”

“Not Korriban?” Obi-Wan asked in surprise.

“You’d think so, right?” Ulic shook his head. “No, the Hssiss were accidentally created by a Jedi Master, something that would never have been a problem for the galaxy at large if it hadn’t been for a fucking idiotic Hutt exporting them offworld.”

“What did Master Thon think of his, er, creations?”

“Thon believed that it wasn’t enough for a Jedi to know the Light,” Ulic said, after a thoughtful pause. “He felt that one should always be aware of the two sides of the Force, both in oneself and in the universe as a whole.”

“Now that part, I understand,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ve even mentioned that to a few other Jedi I thought could hear the words and grasp the concept.”

Ulic seemed intrigued. “Oh? How few is a few?”

The necessary answer filled him with discouragement. “Three.”

Ulic didn’t seem concerned. “Still better than zero.”

When they got back to the house, Obi-Wan didn’t sense Qui-Gon anywhere nearby, but did find evidence that he’d been working. On the table was the greatly expanded sheaf of papers that comprised all of their notes on the language that was _not_ old High Aurebesh, along with several of the books from the library upstairs. The pile was still being held down by the same rock they’d started with, though it was beginning to look outmatched by paper.

Obi-Wan regarded the notes and books, silently resigning himself to an afternoon of giving translation another shot. “You have fun with that,” Ulic said, backing away. “I’m going out for a bit.”

Obi-Wan nodded in absent acknowledgement, choosing the book he’d been studying from most often. He sat down and tried to wrap his head around its contents. Again.

He raised his head sometime later, blinking dry eyes. He hated this damned book, though most of the irritation centered on the fact that he’d stared at its pages until his eyes crossed. Honestly, he’d never regretted a translation attempt more, even in light of the fact that he was actually making _progress._ The patterns were beginning to make sense. He was on the verge of one hell of a breakthrough, but it wasn’t going to come from shoving his nose in the book, not at this point. Instead, Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting words, concepts, letters, and phrases run through his thoughts, trying to match the very ancient with the near ancient.

“I have something for you,” Ulic said a few minutes later, which was enough to draw him out of the meditation he’d slipped into.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked, opening his eyes. His curiosity was piqued by the mischievous smile on the ancient Jedi’s face. “What did you do?”

“Salvage,” Ulic replied. He seemed to reach into thin air—the place where he reached _rippled_ , as if parting way—and drew out a bundle of cloth. He placed it on the table; Obi-Wan stared at it and felt a discordant jangling along his nerves.

“You really need not have,” Obi-Wan said, but gave in to the inevitable and unwrapped the twin lightsabers with a grimace of distaste. He might still reach for Darkness, but Fire meant that bitter rage had all but saturated the hilts.

“Eh, maybe,” Ulic admitted. “But you’re stuck here for at least another week, and I thought you might like something to do other than to swear at the books or stare like a mooning nerf at Jinn whenever he’s not looking.”

“I actually like doing both of those things,” Obi-Wan returned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The latter subject, of course, was being inconceivably difficult about the fact that Obi-Wan was _fine_. He was crazy, and he still got winded sometimes, but he was no longer a fucking explosion waiting to happen. Sparring _would_ be something else to do, an outlet for the wilder energies he channeled.

Obi-Wan let his focus shift until the glowing threads of the weave became visible. If he had to describe the sensation, it would be almost like his vision slid sideways. He spent a grim amount of time using those threads to cleanse the lightsabers before he even dared to take them apart. The internal components were blackened, and the green crystal sets were cracked and crumbling.

Obi-Wan smiled at the mess. “Did I do this, or was it Entroija?”

“Does it matter?” Ulic snorted. “I’m surprised there’s anything left, given what kind of energy they must have been hit with. I was also surprised that you didn’t ask me about them.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t remember if I had them with me or not. None of us were exactly prepared when that meddling fuck shifted us down to Mortis.”

Obi-Wan separated the casing away from its internal components, letting them all hang in the air, equidistant, as he tried to determine what was beyond saving. The crystals were all gently swept aside and lowered to nest upon the pile of cloth. Both power cells, Obi-Wan placed on the table, along with the field conductors and most of the wiring and circuitry.

Ulic shook his head. “I’m guessing the only surviving parts would be the hilts, the adjusters, and the emitters.”

“No, the cyclers are still good, too.” Obi-Wan set them down in a new, third pile before resting the parts Ulic had mentioned next to them. “I might be able to repair the crystals, but the cells, conductors, wiring, the circuitry—that’s all ruined.”

“Huh.” Ulic crossed his arms and eyed the blackened mess. “And if we could get replacements for those?”

“Well, then I could rebuild both lightsabers, depending on what happens with the crystals.” Obi-Wan looked at Ulic from the corner of his eye. “Am I correct in thinking that you were the one who cleaned me out of credit chits, and have been boffing off somewhere to buy tea?”

“Well, I didn’t want to _steal_ the tea.” Ulic gave him a smug smile. “I might not be able to manifest anywhere but Mortis in this time, but it’s easy to make something disappear and leave a replacement in its place. Also, the wellspring refuses to provide tea that doesn’t taste like moss and dirt steeped in water.”

“Then by all means, continue to buy tea, but be merciful and add a red to your pseudo-thievery.” Obi-Wan looked down at the ruined parts. “You think you have enough credits left to replace those, too?”

“Maybe,” Ulic said, picking up one of the blown power cells. “It’d probably be easiest to just filch them from the source.”

Obi-Wan grinned. “If you anger Kimal and Callero during your foraging, on your own head be it.”

Qui-Gon turned up when Obi-Wan had the fractured remains of the green crystals suspended in the air. There were eight total—six crystals that determined the blade’s color and traits, and two focusing crystals. Of the six, three had crumbled and were useless, held together in the air only by Obi-Wan’s will. One of the two focusing stones had cracked completely in half and would have to be repaired on a molecular level. The three remaining crystals would need light cutting or polishing only, as their matrixes were undamaged.

Qui-Gon gave the scattered detritus a curious look. “I thought you didn’t have a lightsaber here.”

“I didn’t know that these two were here until Ulic showed them to me.” Obi-Wan rested his chin on his hands, contemplating the array of crystals. He let the focusing crystals drift off to the side while placing the three shattered stones into a single pile on the table. That left him with three bits of green suspended in the air. He could resort to a single-crystal lightsaber, but the strength was lessened, and it made blade adjustments harder to do.

Obi-Wan reached out and touched each one, listening to the crystal and searching for possibility. None of the stones were ideal, but it was worth the attempt. If the worst happened, he could repair the blades in full later on—if he bothered to repair them, anyway.

The three green stones split perfectly, a far better result than he’d expected. He let the new group of six stones dance around each other, listening to the faint chime as they interacted, and then separated the six back into two groups of three.

“Matched sets,” Qui-Gon said, smiling. “Well done.”

Obi-Wan let the crystals float down, each coming to a gentle rest on the tabletop. “Thanks.” The focusing crystal took longer to fix, and was more difficult, but only in terms of making sure it went back together in exactly the same way.

Qui-Gon picked up one of the curved hilts, which could still do with a physical cleaning if the resulting smudges on Qui-Gon’s fingers were any indication. “Why build a set like this?”

“Curiosity and preparation,” Obi-Wan replied, taking the second hilt and rubbing it down with the cloth. At least the hilts didn’t also stink. He didn’t want the reminders of what he had reeked of on his first morning here.

“Preparation for what?”

Obi-Wan glanced up and gave him an apologetic look. “For your sister Padawan trying to kill us.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Komari’s still alive?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “She was two months ago. Sent her lovely new friends among the Bando Gora to take a swipe at us. They weren’t successful.” He noticed the expression on his Master’s face. “What is it?”

“It’s just a surprise, is all,” Qui-Gon said. “In our time—our original timeline—Komari was dead within months of the Naboo invasion.”

“Dooku?” Obi-Wan asked, keeping his sudden flare of anger away from his eyes.

“Yes.” Qui-Gon nodded sadly. “I found her in the Force sometime before the war began, but gods, she was in terrible shape. I managed to get her coherent enough to tell me that Dooku had…”

_Killed her,_ Obi-Wan thought, when Qui-Gon couldn’t say the words. “If it makes you feel any better, there’s a slim chance that Dooku might be doing something worthwhile with his retirement from the Order.” He tilted his head, smiling. “Well, that and I told him that I would be thrilled to get the chance to kill him for a second time, so he’d better not fuck up.”

“Obi-Wan.”

“What?” Obi-Wan kept smiling. “I’m not going to unless he deserves it.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “Let it go, Obi-Wan.”

“Not anytime soon.”

Ulic popped back into existence, looking startled. “There is a Juhani Cathar that knows a _lot_ of Catharese terms for ‘thieving asshole’ in the Coruscant Temple.”

“Ah, I see you met Callero after all,” Obi-Wan said.

“Seems to be an accurate description,” Qui-Gon added, as Ulic laid down his collection of filched lightsaber parts.

“Well, I _tried_ to pay for them, but he just threw the credits in my direction and said that when he figured out who was responsible for this Temple prank, he was going to neuter them.”

“Caught him in a good mood,” Obi-Wan murmured, making short work of reassembling the lightsabers. He didn’t want to work by hand, not for this set. He wanted his own lightsaber back, to feel the talkative Adegan hum beneath his palms.

“Callero didn’t retire?” Qui-Gon asked, while Ulic shook his head and muttered something about foul-tempered cats.

“No.” Obi-Wan sealed up the first of the twin lightsabers, glad when everything felt right to his senses. “It was strange. I didn’t go out of my way making changes or anything, except for a few very specific things, but sometimes I would just meet certain people and they would…” He paused, trying to figure out how to explain. “I’m not sure what it is they saw, or thought they saw. Callero didn’t retire, for one example. I met Master T’ra in the hall one day about half a year into things. She greeted me, and then she _stared_ at me before bidding me good day. Within a week there was a bonding announcement for her and Master Tholme.”

“That’s certainly different,” Qui-Gon said, watching as the other lightsaber hilt sealed up at Obi-Wan’s direction. “They didn’t actually manage that before until the Empire had existed for five years.”

Obi-Wan lowered both lightsabers to the table, and realized there was a faint, glad smile on his face. “They were still alive?”

“Among others,” Qui-Gon said, “though neither acted in any fashion that would give away their past history. There were very few survivors who still called themselves Jedi, as you and Yoda did.” He gave Obi-Wan a thoughtful look. “You never asked me about anyone. Not once.”

Obi-Wan picked up one of the lightsabers and ignited it. The green was soothing, and it was always nice to see the reminder that he’d never carried a Sith-red blade. The lightsaber’s hum was a bit different because of the restructured crystals, but he thought he’d managed to put it together in such a way that it was as powerful as the original construction.

“I didn’t want to know how many times the answer would be no,” he said, and disengaged the blade. “Even if I’d asked you to tell me outright, the names of those who lived…I would still be able to hear all the names you weren’t saying.”

“Fair enough,” Qui-Gon granted him. “I have a question.”

Obi-Wan waved his hand in invitation, swapping lightsaber hilts to test the other blade. Its hum was a continuous sour note. He turned it back off, giving the offending crystal a nudge back into alignment before re-tightening the bracket.

“When _did_ it happen?” Qui-Gon asked, to his surprise. “When you and Anakin woke up with all of those memories?”

Obi-Wan gave him a doubtful look. “Isn’t that cheating?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I will find out, regardless. It’s all in the weave, if you know where to look. I just hadn’t yet realized that I wouldn’t be able to do this until after everyone was dead.”

“Easier to shift consciousness than the physical,” Obi-Wan said, because that was true even if you were just worried about spiritual transition. “I just don’t recall having any _warning_ of what you were going to be doing.”

“Well, I’m not sure if there is, since…” Qui-Gon looked amused. “Since it hasn’t been done yet.”

Obi-Wan ignited the second lightsaber again. Much better. “Taro Tre.”

Qui-Gon looked like he wanted to hit himself in the face. “Oh, by all the blasted—really?”

“Yes, really.” Obi-Wan shut down the lightsaber and put it on the table next to its twin. “From what I was told afterwards, it was a transition that began possibly within minutes after I was shot.”

“As if Taro Tre wasn’t stressful enough the first time,” Qui-Gon said sourly. “Dammit, that makes too much sense. I knew it would take a prolonged period of unconsciousness but…there isn’t really any other time before Naboo, is there?”

“Not unless you wanted to try it after I fell in the river on Ord Mantell—”

“No,” Qui-Gon said in stark, immediate refusal.

Obi-Wan affected nonchalance he didn’t really feel. It wasn’t a good memory for him, either. “Then you’re stuck with what already happened.”

“It does look that way, doesn’t it?” Qui-Gon’s gaze went distant and thoughtful. “Then Anakin—”

“Was ill at the same time,” Obi-Wan said. “Something happened to Sidious, also, though Force knows what. He’s not exactly been forthcoming on the subject.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “The only real difficulty I’ve foreseen was convincing Sidious to go along with it.”

Obi-Wan froze when the realization struck, and damn near had a panic attack from the implications. “You—you don’t need to convince him,” he said, voice quavering. “You already have the perfect bait.”

“Obi-Wan?”

He sat down hard in the chair and grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, pulling just to the point of pain. He needed it, just that bright bit of focus, or he was going to collapse into a repeat flashback.

Qui-Gon’s hands on his shoulders helped, more than he expected. Warmth soaked into this skin; Obi-Wan focused on the simple, glorious act of breathing until the moment had passed.

“Sidious mentioned it, huh?” Ulic asked, sounding sympathetic.

“That he’d been told exactly why he would be interested in going along with the idea? Oh, yes.” Obi-Wan stood up, abruptly enough that Qui-Gon had to take several steps back to keep his balance. “Who’s volunteering?” he asked, gripping one of the lightsabers in his right hand and holding the second one out in invitation.

“Oh, _hell_ no,” Ulic said, and vanished.

Obi-Wan smiled at Qui-Gon. “Guess that leaves you, then.”

Qui-Gon looked uncertain. “You do realize that I have not sparred with a lightsaber in at least twenty years?”

“Has it only been twenty years for you?” Obi-Wan asked.

Qui-Gon sighed and gave in, accepting the lightsaber. “I tried to stick with your perspective of time, when I could. As for an actual length of time? Obi-Wan, there’s no such thing.”

“Time isn’t a system of measurement, but a matter of being equipped to interpret single events in the realm of the infinite,” Obi-Wan said, unsettled. He didn’t have the quote exactly correct, but he thought he had the gist of it right.

“Exactly.” Qui-Gon seemed delighted, but the emotion faded, probably in response to the look on Obi-Wan’s face. “What is it?”

“I don’t know how I know that,” Obi-Wan said, running his thumb along the ridges of the lightsaber hilt. “I don’t remember.”

Qui-Gon’s expression brightened. “Oh. That’s easy enough to explain. You were borderline hallucinating when we discussed it.”

“Borderline hallucinating,” Obi-Wan repeated, amused.

“The Dyptherias outbreak, at the end of your second year on Tatooine,” Qui-Gon said, which made Obi-Wan blanch. He hadn’t forgotten that fucking disaster, not exactly, but he avoided thinking about it as much as possible. “You came down with it, too, since your immunization against it was technically incomplete.”

“Too miserably allergic for the booster, you mean,” Obi-Wan said, making a face. That must have been a more virulent fever than he recalled.

Qui-Gon followed him upstairs. Obi-Wan still found himself walking on the far side of the hall to avoid the first doorway, and the creepy contents that lay behind it.

The salle was a bright, warm contrast to the makeshift mausoleum. The great room gave him an excuse to stretch, one that he hadn’t taken advantage of often enough.

“You know, I _have_ seen you fight,” Qui-Gon said, when they were standing in position with their blades crossed. To Obi-Wan’s eye, Qui-Gon seemed to be holding his breath. “Please be merciful.”

Obi-Wan grinned. “We could start with a kata.”

“You’re all but vibrating already,” Qui-Gon noted, stepping back into defensive position.

“You have a point,” Obi-Wan granted, and then leapt at him. Qui-Gon was already countering; Obi-Wan adjusted the attack down into a cross-edged sweep. He allowed the motion to carry him around, set and ready for his own defense.

Qui-Gon jumped over him and spun in place, blade still horizontal in a position that was reminiscent of the Fourth Form’s Jar’Kai variation. “Do you have any idea how fast you’re moving?”

“Does it matter?” Obi-Wan asked, as they circled each other. “You are far less rusty than you feared.”

“I’d say muscle memory, but that just sounds absurd.” Qui-Gon feinted in a way that Obi-Wan almost fell for before recognizing the tactic. Only a swift leap to his left saved him from wearing a burn on his shirt.

“Absurd or not, it seems to be working,” Obi-Wan said. He then set banter aside, losing himself to the rhythm of the bout, the back-and-forth of offense to defense and back again. There were variations in the pattern as they got used to each other, a single offense becoming multiple attacks that segued into near-mutual defense.

“You’re holding back,” Qui-Gon accused him. Obi-Wan was breathing hard, sweat soaking his shirt, beads of it dripping from the ends of his hair. He was, at least, not the only one in that condition.

“I was being polite,” Obi-Wan said, even though it had been like a jangling tautness in his muscles, an itch under his skin.

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

It actually took a moment to let down those barriers, partly because he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go back to those long days of avoidance, but gods, he wanted to stretch out in _every_ sense of the word.

The change was obvious, even to him. Obi-Wan drove Qui-Gon from one end of the salle to the other, and it felt effortless. Qui-Gon wasn’t alarmed by the shift, but there was a grim set to his jaw that told Obi-Wan it had become effort to gauge attacks and defend accordingly.

Obi-Wan didn’t feel rage, or anger, or any sort of emotion he once feared would consume him if he let those barriers down. If anything, it was more like manic playfulness.

Maybe Qui-Gon realized it, too. The next time their lightsabers clashed together, each blade trying to overwhelm the other, Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him. “You can do better than that.”

Obi-Wan smiled at the challenge, drawing back his lightsaber and then slamming it down towards the hilt Qui-Gon held. Qui-Gon swore and side-stepped him, protecting the lightsaber but earning a burnt line down his sleeve.

Obi-Wan was ready for him to move in exactly that fashion. He crouched low and kicked out before Qui-Gon had the chance to compensate, sending his Master crashing to the floor. Obi-Wan gave him no chance to recover before he kicked the lightsaber out of Qui-Gon’s hand and tackled his prey.

Qui-Gon wasn’t an easy victim—he had too many years of wrestling with Micah, learning dirty tricks from the Combat Master himself, for that to be so. Obi-Wan had learned from Qui-Gon and Micah, yes, but also the Mando’a, the Mistryl, and several others over the course of his life.

The impromptu wrestling match ended with Obi-Wan holding Qui-Gon’s arm in a lock that would have earned him censure, had the match been held in the Temple. Qui-Gon was lying on his back, motionless, his face showing the strain of a limb pushed just to the edge of real damage.

“Yield,” Obi-Wan said, a wide smile on his face.

“Amazing,” Qui-Gon murmured.

“That’s not giving up,” Obi-Wan complained, but Qui-Gon didn’t seem to hear him. He was reaching up with his free hand to cup Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan went still at the touch, which was utterly out of _context_ for what they were just doing. He and his mate had agreed to keep such things separate…but then, this man was not yet his mate.

“Pale gold,” Qui-Gon said, which made no sense until Qui-Gon explained. “Your eyes, Ben. They’re pale gold. Not amber at all.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered and more than a bit distracted by the gentle caress of Qui-Gon’s thumb sweeping over his cheekbone.

“I don’t know,” Qui-Gon replied, and then smiled. “But it’s lovely.”

Obi-Wan released him from the arm lock, wary for any sign that Qui-Gon was going to take advantage of the situation. There wasn’t one; Qui-Gon seemed to be far more captivated by whatever the hell Obi-Wan’s eyes were doing at the moment.

“How do you feel?” Qui-Gon asked, without lowering his hand.

“Confused and extremely turned on,” Obi-Wan said bluntly. “I have to say, those feelings do not complement one another.”

“Usually they don’t, no,” Qui-Gon agreed, staring up at him. _Longing,_ Obi-Wan thought. Well, the feeling was entirely mutual.

Obi-Wan reached down and touched Qui-Gon’s face with his fingertips. There was a spark that made his hand tingle when he did so, one that felt exceptionally familiar. “Dammit. We can’t, can we?”

Qui-Gon shook his head, regretful. “No. I think that would cause an exceptional number of problems.”

“Lifebond potential in a wellspring.” Obi-Wan sighed. “We’re still doing things backwards.”

“Backwards is better than non-progressive, hapless flailing,” Qui-Gon said with a wry smile.

“That’s true,” Obi-Wan said, rolling off to the side and standing before helping Qui-Gon rise from the floor. “But if you say no to hugging, I’ll bite you.”

“Biting would also lead to complications, Ben,” Qui-Gon rumbled, but didn’t refuse the embrace.

“Shut up. This is hard enough as it is,” Obi-Wan muttered.

“Ah, yes. I can tell.”

“Shut. Up,” Obi-Wan repeated, which made Qui-Gon laugh.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Seventy-five individual characters, twelve different distinct genders, _no_ neutral form of address, and grammar rules that I think they either made up or ignored according to whim.”   Obi-Wan resisted the urge to bash his head against the tabletop. “If it weren’t of such vital historical importance, I would set this book on fire.”

“You got further than I would have,” Qui-Gon said, rubbing his forehead and looking pained. “We need Tahl for this. Translation of the obscure is her talent, not mine.”

“Eventually, yes, I want to put this book into her hands,” Obi-Wan said, restacking their notes. “I was just hoping to have something truly useful to present her with, given that there are at least five different distinct languages in the books upstairs.”

“Five?” Qui-Gon frowned, discouraged. “It would have been nice if the one book written in High Aurebesh had been a damned translation manual.”

“That would be too easy.” Obi-Wan smiled at him, hoping to get that beaten look off of his Master’s face. “Though at least then we’d be down to six gender sets _including_ the neutral, forty-five characters, and far more rigid standards in grammar.”

“None of which I am mastering with any great speed,” Qui-Gon said, placing the rock on top of the stacked paper.

“Still easier than this,” Obi-Wan said. “Basic is just very watered down High Aurebesh.” He got up from the table, stretching, and tried not to dwell too long on the fact that Qui-Gon’s eyes lingered on him when he did so.

“And then there’s that console.” Obi-Wan had finally approached it the other day. Ulic had not been pleased when it failed to light beneath Obi-Wan’s hands—any of their hands.

“Maybe it’s lacking a power source, aside from the one we’re practically sitting within,” Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that.” As if on cue, the home’s lights came on for the evening, beating back the encroaching dark. He walked over to the closest light fixture, pressed his ear against the wall beneath it, and listened.

There; within the walls he could hear the very faint but audible hum of power being fed through a conduit line. “Now I just have to follow you,” Obi-Wan murmured, sliding his way down the wall with his eyes half-closed, keeping track of the sound’s path.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Why is there warm water, but not hot?” Obi-Wan asked, putting his ear to the floor in several different places before he picked up the sound again. “Why isn’t the water just cold, instead? Why do the lights only come on at night? Why does that console, a device Ulic believes to be the controls for the technological aspects of Mortis, refuse to function?”

“Not just the console lacking a power source, but perhaps damage to a primary source, one that we don’t actually know about,” Qui-Gon realized. He was standing but not following, keeping the echo of further sounds from impeding Obi-Wan’s progress.

“Well, the fucking housekeeping service of food, laundry, and magic towels was programmed into the weave of the Force,” Obi-Wan said, tracking the conduit’s hum to the central seating area. There were chairs and sofas present now, items brought down from where they had once been stored in the salle. Obi-Wan shoved a chair to one side and ran his fingers along the floor until he found a divot that should not have been. “Gotcha.”

Obi-Wan blew dust out from what was actually a crack in the floor, a perfect, artificial seam. Revealed, it was a square that outlined an opening just large enough to admit a humanoid body.

“Allow me,” Qui-Gon said, once Obi-Wan waved him over. He lifted the stone hatch with the Force, setting it aside on the floor with a muffled thud.

“No opening mechanism at all,” Obi-Wan said, taking a look at the open hatchway. “You would have to be trained in the Force to get inside.” The globes were casting just enough light to reveal what looked like the beginnings of a maintenance tunnel.

“I would have to be incorporeal to get in there and not break something,” Qui-Gon noted.

“That’s a great idea,” Obi-Wan said, sitting down on the ledge. He held his hands together and concentrated on what he wanted. In moments, he had a glowing ball of blue-tinted light hovering above his palms.

“Don’t electrocute yourself,” Qui-Gon told him, as Obi-Wan dropped into the tunnel. He was going to have to hunch down to get in, or crawl on his hands and knees.

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said, an innocent look plastered on his face.

Qui-Gon smiled. “You are an imp and a brat. Start exploring, Padawan.”

It was a lot easier just to proceed by crawling, instead of navigating the tunnel hunched over. Obi-Wan’s created glow-blob followed along with him, illuminating individual strands of wiring, conduits, and pipes that were both cold and warm to the touch.

Water, Obi-Wan thought. He paused long enough to bash his fist against the ceiling. _Can you tell where I am?_

_Yes,_ Qui-Gon replied, his voice rich with amused tolerance. _All I’ve had to do is follow the swearing. Looks like you’ve been crawling along part of a circle._

_Feels like it, too._ Obi-Wan resumed his progress, this time paying attention to the fact that yes, he apparently had been swearing at full volume as he went. The tunnel was small, cramped, and filthy, and his head kept striking the ceiling when he tried to look at anything. The passage smelled like corroded metal and the place where dust went to die.

Obi-Wan found the problem easily enough, at least in regards to the disrupted flow of power to the house. One of the conduits had cracked entirely in half, severing all the connections within it. _Am I in the kitchen, by any chance?_

_Yes. I take it the problem is related to the gaping hole in the wall?_

_I expect so,_ Obi-Wan replied, peering at the wiring. He didn’t have the tools to fix it, not yet, but Ulic could probably use those unspent credits and acquire them. Perhaps he could just form what he needed using the wellspring, but he didn’t like to do so. It was too much like cheating. He suspected Ulic and Qui-Gon felt the same way, considering the tea purchases.

He kept going instead of retreating. If the maintenance tunnel ran in a circle, he’d arrive back at the starting point. His clothing was already caked in dust, his hands blackened by tunnel grime.

It didn’t quite work out that way. His path was eventually blocked by what had to be the home’s power source, a simple square that half-filled the tunnel. The device thrummed in a way that should have been audible, but wasn’t. The feel of it didn’t even vibrate the tunnel floor. The power generator was at the center of a convergence of tunnels, which meant the stone access hatch wasn’t the only one.

“Well, aren’t you interesting,” Obi-Wan said, scooting up next to it. The square shape turned out to be a cover. He touched it with cautious hands, wary of being shocked, but there was nothing—only a vibration in his fingertips.

He stared at the generator’s revealed innards, at a complete loss for words. He didn’t understand the technology he was looking at, but the central unit he recognized at once.

Obi-Wan teleported himself out of the tunnel and came down hard on the floor in the kitchen, where Qui-Gon was still standing.

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan stared up at him. “It’s a wormhole,” he whispered.

“What?” Qui-Gon helped him to his feet. “What is?”

“The house.” Obi-Wan realized there was a mad grin on his face. “It’s powered by a Storm. A technologically contained and active _wormhole._ ”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“You are _shitting me_ ,” Ulic said when he was told, giving Obi-Wan a disbelieving stare.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Not at all. It’s Force-driven technology.”

“Like the _Reaper_ ,” Ulic murmured.

“Reaper?” Qui-Gon asked, curious.

“A disastrous piece of machinery,” Ulic explained. “We thought it was old Sith tech, from the Great Hyperspace War, but maybe not. The Krath didn’t have much trouble converting the Force into an energy source for it, and contrary to legend, the Krath were really not all that bright.”

“Dooku found it again, during the Clone Wars,” Obi-Wan said. “He put all of the scattered pieces together and figured out how to use the fucking thing. Anakin went to Ulic’s memorial on Rhen Var to ask Ulic how to destroy it.”

Ulic seemed entertained by the idea. “He didn’t talk to me. Not directly, at any rate. Your Padawan spoke to what is, essentially, a gigantic holocron. Nomi built it for me when I asked her to, once I figured out how to talk to the living again. There was too much in my head, too many things that had happened during the war, many of which I suspected might need to be accessible at one point. Took a hell of a long time to imprint it all, too.”

Fixing the severed conduit was not that difficult, once Obi-Wan had the necessary supplies. Without a means to shut off the power, Obi-Wan did most of the work with the Force. When it was done, and Ulic reported that every hot water tap was capable of emitting steaming water, Obi-Wan set the edges of the broken conduit cover together and resealed it.

Obi-Wan shifted himself back out of the conduit again, just as filthy as he’d been the first time. “I’m taking a shower,” he said, while Ulic played with a newly uncovered control panel for the lights. “Then we can tackle that console.” Qui-Gon nodded in response, but he was watching Ulic, as if worried the ancient Jedi was going to break something.

Hot showers were absolute bliss. Obi-Wan couldn’t remember if he’d ever taken their existence for granted before, but he was going to do his best never to do so again. Clean clothing was also good, as the weave’s programming did its work. He didn’t think the built-in housekeeping could be created outside the wellspring, but he was not above taking advantage of its existence.

When he went to the console room, Qui-Gon and Ulic were already there, standing on opposite sides of the console itself. “Got tired of playing with the lights, huh?”

Ulic snorted. “Wise ass. The console has power again—”

“You can hear it,” Qui-Gon noted.

“—but it doesn’t respond to either of us,” Ulic finished, crossing his arms. “I think you can guess why.”

“You’re dead, and I’m not,” Obi-Wan said.

“Possibly.” Qui-Gon seemed leery of the idea. “Perhaps it’s a form of security against unwanted interference, considering the energy translation. There’s only one way to find out, though.”

“Right.” Obi-Wan looked down at the console, seeing several smudges that must have been their attempts at accessing the device. He bent down and blew off most of the top layer of dust. Underneath, the control panel appeared to be a black touchscreen, much like a flexpad.

Obi-Wan grabbed the end of his sleeve with his fingers and wiped the rest of the dust away. The surface was not soft, but solid—he thought perhaps it was glass, or a finely crafted transparisteel. It also lit up when he applied pressure.

“Well, hello there,” Obi-Wan murmured, as unknown characters flowed across the screen.

“Told you,” Ulic said.

Qui-Gon eyed Ulic, his irritation obvious. “That’s not necessarily a good thing.”

Obi-Wan shook his head at the exchange, watching as yellow and green indicators danced across the black surface, possibly performing a diagnostic. Then the text vanished, and the console emitted a soft, musical chime. Two glowing red spots appeared on the surface, warm red blobs that shifted into the appearance of five-fingered, humanoid hands.

“That’s an invitation if I’ve ever seen one.” Ulic sounded amused.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “I can take a hint,” he said, and pressed his right hand against the glass. The console hummed beneath his skin, a response that almost felt like pleasure. He couldn’t decide if that was reassuring or alarming.

“Obi-Wan?”

He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “I’ll be fine. Also, feel free to get me the hell away from this thing if it seems even remotely like it will be otherwise.” He held up his left hand and took a deep breath. “Please do not blow anything up,” he said, and put his palm down on the second red handprint.

Obi-Wan gasped. His head was being peeled open. He saw millions of dancing lights, shapes that resolved themselves and then broke apart again.

_Lift your hands,_ Obi-Wan ordered himself. His lungs were burning, the light overwhelming. He had not been prepared for this. He didn’t have the mindset for it, not yet—it was too much input on a still-healing psyche. _Lift them. Lift!_

The contact broke when he was yanked away from the console. Obi-Wan stumbled backwards and would have fallen if Qui-Gon and Ulic hadn’t grasped his arms to support him.

Obi-Wan realized his lungs felt cramped, and took in a desperate, wheezing breath. “I’m all right,” he said, when he had stopped gasping for air like a beached fish. “But I’d really like to sit the hell down.”

They both helped him sit on the low wall when his legs refused to obey him. Obi-Wan drew in a series of long, calming breaths until he’d more or less stopped shaking.

“What the fuck happened?” Ulic asked.

“You’re right in that it’s the controls for the monolith, and maybe for other things, too,” Obi-Wan said, relieved to find that he sounded more or less recovered. “But it needs a hell of a lot of warning signs attached to it. Anyone untrained in the Force would probably be dead after that.” Obi-Wan ran his hands through his hair. “Anyone _trained_ might be brain dead. Fuck!”

“Then it’s unusable,” Qui-Gon said, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Actually, now that I know what to expect? I should be fine. No, really,” he said, when Ulic looked unconvinced and Qui-Gon opened his mouth to argue. “It’s perspective that is the problem. It’s full-scale cosmic awareness, this thing, not a simple interface. I can _do_ that. I’m just not used to having it shoved into my skull.”

Ulic tilted his head. “Huh. So it’s making the user aware of the entire planet, not just specific elements.”

“Maybe the entire system,” Obi-Wan said, after a moment’s consideration.

“Battle awareness,” Ulic muttered. “Handy.”

“That would be overwhelming, even for most Jedi Masters of this era.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

“Isn’t it?” Obi-Wan sighed. “A few of us have been working on seeing the Force in that way, but at the moment, there’s just me.”

“You were still struggling with the concept when I left Tatooine,” Qui-Gon said in a soft voice.

Obi-Wan leaned against him, smiling when Qui-Gon’s arm went around him. “I had ten years to practice.”

There was a moment of silence. “Ten _what?_ ”

“And this is me leaving now,” Ulic said, and did exactly that.

“Ten years,” Obi-Wan repeated patiently, without lifting his head. “Not a month. You were gone for ten years.”

He could feel Qui-Gon’s distress, almost palpable enough to thicken the air. “Force,” Qui-Gon whispered, his arms tightening around Obi-Wan. “You must have been infuriated with me.”

“Not really,” Obi-Wan said, glad for the embrace and the warmth it provided. Maybe if they’d had this conversation earlier, it would be more fraught on his part, but he’d just had his brain figuratively scalded. Emotive outbursts seemed pointless. “I knew you were going to come back—I was certain of it. If anything, I was worried about you, more with every day that passed. Then you showed up over breakfast one morning.”

“Gods.” Qui-Gon rested his face against Obi-Wan’s hair. “Did I say why it’d been so long?”

“Made your usual excuse about time, which I thought was entertaining,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t know if something happened that you felt you couldn’t tell me, or if you were delayed because I _told_ you that you were delayed.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, rueful. “At this point, either is possible.”

“You know, when I first realized it was you, I had this idea that I shouldn’t tell you.” Obi-Wan felt drifty, either a side-effect of the console or a sign that he needed to lie down soon. “I don’t know why it seemed so important.”

“Perhaps it seems less important because you just attempted to fry your brain,” Qui-Gon said.

“Maybe.” _Now_ he was slurring. “Okay. Nap.” He stood up, tugging on Qui-Gon’s hand.

Qui-Gon was smiling. “I don’t need to sleep.”

“No, but you’re here, and pillow,” Obi-Wan countered. Not his best negotiation ever, but it convinced his former Master to follow him to the last bedroom, and to allow his shoulder to be used as a replacement pillow.

“You are a tyrant,” Qui-Gon said, a gentle rumble of amusement. “I must be utterly besotted, to put up with such demands.”

“You love it,” Obi-Wan murmured, and passed out.

 

*          *          *          *

 

The next day, Obi-Wan vanished for several hours. Qui-Gon resisted the urge to fret—things _were_ better, dammit—but Ulic didn’t seem concerned. Instead, he tried to focus on other tasks. He didn’t succeed very well, but at least it had been an honest attempt.

Qui-Gon gave up on pretense and eventually found Obi-Wan outside in the courtyard, sitting in full lotus and in a deep meditative state. Instead of interrupting, he sat down on the closest bench to observe. Obi-Wan acknowledged his presence without moving, a flicker in the Force that asked for another moment’s patience.

It was a keen reminder that there wasn’t much time left. Qui-Gon didn’t know if Obi-Wan or Ulic recognized how close it was to that original junction. Time flowed differently on Mortis, especially in the heart of the wellspring. It was hard even for his natural talent to keep track of the number of passing days.

Obi-Wan looked far better than he had that first miserable week, when those damn green lines of corruption had still marked his skin. They were all gone now, from what he could see.

It was better to concentrate on that than dwell on the fact that Obi-Wan was shirtless and barefoot, with his trousers rolled up to his knees. It was a sight Qui-Gon had seen before, many times, and he still found it distracting.

_Clinical observations only, or you are going to wind up committing a grave error,_ Qui-Gon reminded himself.

There were new scars on Obi-Wan’s back that had not been present on Tatooine…and yet, all of the original scars he’d earned were also still in place. Even the runner of a scar on his right shin, the one that marked where both bones had shattered and been left untreated, held its original and damning pride of place.

Obi-Wan had kept the beard, but trimmed it back into neater lines along his jaw. His hair gleamed with evidence of returning health, though the days in the sun were bleaching the deeper red into blond-streaked pale copper. It was still long enough in the front to hang over his eyes, though he kept it pushed behind his ears; the back he’d trimmed using one of his knives, and somehow had managed to not turn it into a hack job.

“Practice,” Obi-Wan said, before opening his eyes and turning to look at him. “Not as if I could have asked you to do it on Tatooine.”

“What happened to the clippers?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, a wry smile appearing on his face. “They got old. I didn’t really have the means to fix them.”

Qui-Gon had the disturbing feeling they were having two different conversations, but didn’t want to pursue the idea. Not at that moment, at least. “Lunch?”

“Lovely,” Obi-Wan said, allowing Qui-Gon to give him a hand up from the ground. That teasing spark danced at Qui-Gon’s palm again, settling in and refusing to go away.

The realization stopped him in his tracks. _“Oh.”_

Obi-Wan glanced up in concern. “What?”

“That’s how it works. That’s why it goes wrong.” Or perhaps he should rephrase it to things going very right, but technically the former was true.

“I am missing part of this conversation,” Obi-Wan said, amused. “Please start making sense again.”

Qui-Gon swept him into a hug. Obi-Wan uttered a surprised yelp, but didn’t protest. “Crudely put? Anchor point plus Lifebond potential equals essence transfer,” Qui-Gon said, feeling a giddy sort of relief, doubled by the sensation of bare skin under his hands. “You were right.”

Obi-Wan drew back and looked at him. “That’s really been bothering you, hasn’t it?”

“I’ve spent weeks trying to figure out how I fucked that up, yes,” Qui-Gon admitted, as Obi-Wan grasped his hand again and refused to let go, leading him into the house.

“Well, now you can do it on purpose, and everyone wins,” Obi-Wan countered, which made him smile.

Ulic heard the theory over lunch and then laughed at him for it. Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head. “Why are we friends again?”

“You seem to have a thing for broken, sarcastic bastards,” Ulic pointed out.

Obi-Wan had his elbow propped on the table, supporting his chin with his hand. “If this is my introduction to polyamory, I really wanted more advanced notice than this.”

Ulic snickered at the dry delivery. “You’re pretty, Kid, but I’m married, and my spouse does not share.”

“What are you planning for the rest of the day?” Qui-Gon asked, watching Obi-Wan meander around the home’s sitting area. Ulic was seated, reading their notes with a perplexed scowl on his face. Qui-Gon suspected that there were not going to be any wondrous revelations about the ancient language from that quarter.

“No idea.” Obi-Wan had a distant look in his eyes that meant he was attempting to perform a waking meditation. “I’ve been contemplating making another attempt with the console, but I don’t think I’m ready for it yet.”

“Please don’t make the attempt until you’re certain.”

Obi-Wan’s lips quirked in a half-hearted smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in regressing to the point where I start bleeding again at the slightest opportunity.”

“I’ll chase you around the salle with a staff if it’ll keep you from being so twitchy,” Ulic said without looking up.

“I’m not twitchy, I’m—” Obi-Wan paused, cocking his head as if listening. “Huh,” he said, turning and heading for the open doorway.

Qui-Gon felt it a moment later, like a chaotic din in the Force. Ulic’s eyes lit up, a feral grin on his face. “This should be interesting.”

“Quite,” Qui-Gon agreed, wondering exactly who had approached in such an unusual manner.

He heard Obi-Wan speak before they could make it outside. “Hello, Fieff.”

“How the _fuck_ are you in two places at once?” was the shouted response.

Fieff turned out to be a tall ginger-haired human, one so thin as to border on stick-like, with freckles liberally mapping his skin. Qui-Gon was almost certain he recognized the man from years previous—he’d just never matched the face with the name Obi-Wan had mentioned.

Obi-Wan was regarding Fieff with a carefully neutral look that still didn’t hide the flash of mischief in his eyes. “Time travel.”

“And him?” Fieff pointed at Ulic. “I know old when I see it.”

“Also time travel,” Obi-Wan said. Ulic snorted.

“Okay, and what’s Jinn’s excuse? Because…” Fieff paused and took another look at Qui-Gon. “Yeah, let’s just go with him also being in two places at once.”

Obi-Wan’s smiled. “Still time travel.”

“Your life is fucked up, man,” Fieff said.

“I’m aware of that,” Obi-Wan said, and hugged Fieff.

Fieff’s eyes widened as he stared at Qui-Gon and Ulic in what looked like a genuine display of abject terror. “Help, the scary fucker is hugging me!”

“Fuck you too, Fieff,” Obi-Wan returned, unoffended.

“Can’t blame me for being paranoid. You were not the huggy sort, like, six hours ago,” Fieff said, though he finally returned the embrace. “Also, you look better.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Better?”

“A lot less likely to stab me in my sleep,” Fieff clarified. “Hurry up and introduce me, I want to know who the old guy is.”

“I can’t tell if I like him, or if I want to strangle him,” Ulic said, not bothering to lower his voice.

“I have that effect on people,” Fieff agreed cheerfully.

Obi-Wan was shaking his head. “This is Colm Fieff. Fieff, this is Ulic Qel-Droma.”

Fieff, in the process of holding out his hand, looked as if he’d been slapped. “No shit?”

Ulic shrugged. “No shit.”

“Awesome,” Fieff said, recovering in the blink of an eye as he shook Ulic’s hand. “Being dead is a lot more entertaining than I expected.”

“How did you find this place?” Qui-Gon asked. He’d decided he liked the Shadow; Force knew which way Ulic would swing.

“Well, Kenobi taught me how to make an anchor point, among other things, so I created one for him and another for a friend of mine,” Fieff said, settling into a fairly serious explanation. “So there I was, newly dead and exploring, and oh, look, what do you know, this asshole is in two places at once! I thought I’d come find out why.”

“Nosy Jedi,” Ulic said in approval. “Congratulations on your Mastery, by the way. I’d heard it was newly earned.”

“Thanks. And being nosy is my job. Was. Is.” Fieff made a face. “If I’m dead, what is, exactly, the correct tense?”

Ulic laughed. “Whatever the hell you want. Things are a bit more flexible here.”

“Yeah, there is that whole Kenobi being alive and you two being dead bit,” Fieff said, eyes narrowing. “Not to mention the being solid at the moment bit. How the hell does that work?”

“Wellspring,” Obi-Wan said, and then his eyes widened. “Wait. If you’re here, then—”

_“Obi-Wan Kenobi!”_ Qui-Gon turned his head to see a violet-skinned woman stalking towards them, her narrow-eyed glare pinned on Obi-Wan. She was still half intangible, but getting more solid by the moment. Qui-Gon recognized her at once, if only because of Mace’s aborted attempt at a relationship with the Healer.

Obi-Wan stood his ground as she approached, only leaning away from her when she shoved a finger in his face. “Hi, Rava.”

“You had better not be dead!” Ra’um-Ve yelled back.

Obi-Wan looked startled. “What? No!”

“Well, good, then,” the woman said, and threw her arms around Obi-Wan and subjected him to what appeared to be a bone-crushing hug. Obi-Wan hugged her back, burying his face against her shoulder.

 

*          *          *          *

 

The explanation of what Mortis was, and how it translated energy from one form to another, took a while. Both Healer and Shadow accepted it all readily enough, albeit with a few questions.

Qui-Gon’s presence was apparently the more difficult pill to swallow. Granted, given the situation, he couldn’t say he blamed them for the abject disbelief.

Fieff gave up on trying to grasp the idea of divergent timelines. “Nice digs,” he said, holding onto his mug with one hand and gesturing around the house with the other. “The free tea is neat, too.”

“You are frighteningly adaptable,” Ra’um-Ve said in a dry voice, then turned to Obi-Wan. “Now that I understand why I’m dead but not haunting things like some ghostly wraith, what the hell happened to your eyes?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Caustic energy burn, remember? It seems to make an effective bleach.”

“Huh,” Fieff said, giving Obi-Wan a curious stare. “Does that sort of thing go back to normal after a while?”

Ra’um-Ve shook her head. “No. You look a lot less like death, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan said, looking pained by the reminder. “It’s been a while since Fire was removed.”

“Removed?” Ra’um-Ve repeated in alarm. “Not cured, not worn off?”

“What the hell did that entail?” Fieff asked.

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon, who tried not to feel nauseated by the memory. “Nothing good.”

“Well, the _results_ were good,” Ulic countered. “The process was akin to an Akillian Purge.”

Qui-Gon didn’t know the term, but it was obvious the Healer did, her dark violet skin turning storm-cloud grey. “Dear gods,” Ra’um-Ve whispered. “You could have killed him.”

“He was already dying.” Ulic sipped his tea. “There wasn’t really anything worse I could do to him other than just outright murder the poor fuck.”

“The poor fuck in question appreciates both the method and the results, thanks,” Obi-Wan said absently. He’d set his tea aside to pull out the flex-pad comm, a device that had made the occasional appearance since Qui-Gon’s introduction to it. “How long would you say you’ve been dead?”

“I feel like that should be a rude question,” Ra’um-Ve said. “However, it’s a moot point because I have no idea. Time doesn’t really feel the same to me.”

Fieff frowned. “You and I had just had a conversation about my kid. Why?”

“About twelve hours, then.” Obi-Wan wrapped the comm around his wrist again, where it promptly camouflaged itself to match his skin tone. “The comm’s internal clock believes it’s only been two weeks since I arrived on this planet, but Fieff’s and Ra’um-Ve’s presence here tells me it’s been nearly a full month.”

_Six days to go,_ Qui-Gon thought. It was nice to know that his grasp of time had been accurate, even if the comm had failed.

“Time dilation?” Fieff asked. He had the ability to switch between utter irreverence and somber seriousness in the blink of an eye. The man must have been one hell of a field operative.

“I would think so,” Obi-Wan said. “I was just wondering if it’s a distinct trait of Mortis, or if it’s built into the weave that surrounds the house.”

“The Ones didn’t know,” Ulic said. “The time dilation was a big surprise for Isuheel, remember?”

“Yes, but they weren’t the first set of Guardians,” Obi-Wan countered. “We don’t actually know how long the Je’daii Order was sending teams out here to watch over Mortis.”

“Jeh-dah-ee?” Ra’um-Ve said, sounding out the word. “Older word for Jedi?”

“Not quite. Jedi was derived from Je’daii, but it’s not quite the same thing,” Ulic corrected her. “No one actually remembers what Je’daii means, though.”

“I imagine one of those damned books would tell us,” Obi-Wan said, rubbing his forehead. “If we can ever interpret them.”

“Books?” Fieff sat up straighter, excited by the prospect. “Old books? Older than him?”

“Way older than me,” Ulic said, and then smiled like a shark. “Older than the corpses upstairs, even.”

“Corpses?” Ra’um-Ve gave Ulic a look of supreme displeasure. “That’s unsanitary, and exceptionally creepy.”

Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. “Trust me, sanitation is not even an issue. Let’s just stick with the books for now.” He teleported the stack from the kitchen table into the sitting area, letting them drop down onto the low central table.

“Oh, these are lovely,” Ra’um-Ve crooned, once she had opened one and flipped through the pages.

“And utterly indecipherable,” Fieff said, turning his open book in a full circle as he examined the text from each angle. “What the hell is this?”

“We think it’s a precursor to old High Aurebesh,” Qui-Gon said. Ra’um-Ve looked up, curious, but Fieff just made a disgruntled face.

“High Aurebesh was bad enough to learn,” Fieff said. “If this is a precursor, I imagine it’s even more complicated.”

“Mystic center,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon glanced at him, surprised by the apparent non sequitur. “Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan glanced up from the book he held. Qui-Gon noticed that it was the one he chose the most often as a basis for attempting translation. “Mystic center. That’s what Je’daii means.” He offered them all a lopsided smile. “I cracked it. I’ve got it, Qui.”

“For someone who just figured out a twenty-five-thousand-year-old language, you look like you want to kill something,” Ulic said.

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, as if biting back a retort, before he started reciting directly from the text. _“There is no ignorance; there is knowledge._ _There is no fear; there is power._ _I am the heart of the Force._ _I am the revealing fire of light._ _I am the mystery of darkness_ _, in balance with chaos and harmony, immortal in the Force.”_

“Classy,” Fieff said, breaking the silence. “By the way, is it just me, or did that sound like our Code and the Sith Code tangled up together?”

“It isn’t just you,” Ulic said, frowning.

“That’s exactly what it sounds like.” Obi-Wan slammed the book closed and tossed it onto the table. “Dammit! I thought the Code before Odan-Urr’s revision was going to be hard for the Order to swallow.”

“I don’t quite understand why you’re so upset,” Ra’um-Ve ventured.

“Martyrdom, Ra’um-Ve,” Fieff said, grim-faced. “You weren’t Coruscant-raised. Temple Jedi are kind of sticklers for historical purity, and this would make a whole lot of hidebound Jedi shit their pants.”

“I’m so glad I’m Corellian,” the Healer murmured. “That lovely prospect aside—what revision?”

_“Emotion, yet peace._ _Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force,”_ Ulic quoted. “That’s what the Code was in my time, though after the war it quickly shifted over to Odan-Urr’s treatise to become the Code you lot know today.”

“So, we have a Sith and Jedi mixed bag of a Code, and then a Code that sounds like the complete opposite of what we’ve all been taught.” Fieff didn’t look impressed. “Why the hell don’t we know about this?”

“I’d never heard of it before I met Ulic,” Qui-Gon said. “It was a displeasing revelation.”

“I only learned of it when Odan-Urr’s holocron decided he liked me.” Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet; he was staring at the pile of books, his expression troubled. “After that, I went searching. It had to be in the Temple Archives somewhere, right?”

“No, huh?” Ulic was unsurprised.

“No.” Obi-Wan looked up, and it seemed as if his eyes were more devoid of color than usual. “There are no digital references, no matter how far back in our history I went. For the physical records? I couldn’t prove that it was the old Code, because on the few documents I found that predated the Great Sith War, the words had been burnt off.”

“Force,” Qui-Gon whispered, chilled. He knew there had been stagnation in the Order—he’d _lived_ it, had died because of it—but this was another matter entirely.

“Shit,” Fieff said, wide-eyed. “You’re talking deliberate erasure.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I think so, and I think it ties directly into something I’ve been pushing for since Naboo.”

“Kid recovered from being stabbed and went immediately back to causing trouble.” Ulic bore a pleased, proud look.

“Now this I’d like to hear,” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan smiled, but it was a rueful expression.

“I’ve been trying to do two things,” Obi-Wan explained. “Repeal the age limits on Initiate training, and toss out the one Master, one Padawan tenet.”

“Okay, I get why on the first one,” Fieff said. “The Padawan age-out standards are complete bullshit.”

“But why the second?” Qui-Gon asked. “That is quite a bit of radicalism, Padawan.”

“Both of those tenets were mandated out of fear.” Obi-Wan frowned. “That’s not wisdom; it’s foolishness.”

“You’re trying to get the Council to see the logic behind that?” Qui-Gon smiled. “Mixing oil and water would be easier.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “They’re more receptive than you might think, especially after this last shift of the circle. There’s another problem, though, one I didn’t anticipate, and had just stumbled over before Fire.”

Ulic lifted his head. “What did you find?”

“The Ruusan Reformation wasn’t just a restructuring of Jedi philosophy,” Obi-Wan said.   
“It’s Republic law.”

“Now that, I didn’t know.” Ulic glanced at Qui-Gon, who shook his head. He hadn’t known, either.

“Fuck,” Fieff muttered, and then shoved his hand back through his hair. “Fucking politics. Even if you could get the Council to go along with the idea, it’s not just a matter of convincing the Council and the Order—”

“But convincing the Senate to vote to repeal the laws of the Reformation, yes,” Obi-Wan finished.

“And it’s an election year,” Ra’um-Ve said, thoughtful. “Would it be better to introduce the idea before voting day, or after?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “I’d rather eat glass than do either.”

Fieff cleared his throat. “Y’know, I wanted to meet you, when Fire was done with and you weren’t crazy.” He gave Obi-Wan an appraising look. “I have to say, I don’t see a difference.”

“That’s because you’re an unobservant hack!” Ra’um-Ve retorted.

Obi-Wan ducked his head. From the way his shoulders were shaking, Qui-Gon knew he was laughing.

Qui-Gon glanced over at Fieff and gave the man a slow nod: _Well done._ Fieff shrugged in reply, another wide, insouciant smile on his face.

The conversation from that point was less serious, and far less fraught, though it wasn’t long before Obi-Wan suggested that the two return to Entrios. Fieff nodded, as if he’d expected such, but Ra’um-Ve frowned.

“I’m staying.”

“Rava—” Obi-Wan started to protest, but she cut him off.

“First off, I don’t actually know how to create those anchor points yet, and I’d like to be able to find you again. Secondly: How many flashbacks have you had since Fire was removed?”

Obi-Wan scowled and didn’t answer. “At least three,” Qui-Gon said. He refused to back down when Obi-Wan turned and glared at him instead.

“Obi-Wan.” Ra’um-Ve’s voice was gentle, her usual brashness abandoned. “I am dead, but find myself still in the position to act as your Healer, at least for the moment. Let me do my job, please.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed before he looked over at Fieff. “Go away,” he said, and then eased the command with a faint smile. “In a couple of days I’m going to suggest you leave Entrios in a hurry. It’s in your best interest to do so; you can come back here for a few hours, if you like.”

Fieff was intrigued. “Scary fun times?”

“Uninvited guest,” Obi-Wan said, which made no sense to Qui-Gon, but Ulic seemed to understand.

“Awesome. See you in a few days,” Fieff said, and vanished. Ulic disappeared a moment later, after giving Obi-Wan a commanding stare that would have been fitting on any teaching Master.

“Should I make Jinn leave, too?” Ra’um-Ve asked.

“No, it’s—he’s fine. It isn’t as if he doesn’t know some of it.” Obi-Wan sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“Not enough, I expect,” Ra’um-Ve said. “How many, you utter brat?”

Obi-Wan sighed and gave in. “At least ten, aside from that mess the other day.”

Qui-Gon felt a deep pang, sympathy mixed with displeasure. “Obi-Wan.”

“I know.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms and refused to look at either of them. “I’m not exactly thrilled about it.”

Ra’um-Ve turned her attention to Qui-Gon. “I know that you’re not our Jinn.” She squinted at him. “Though I see what Fieff means about you not making sense. Interesting; none of the others look like that.”

Qui-Gon tried not to show his intense discomfort at that revelation. Ulic hadn’t mentioned a word. “I don’t actually know what you mean.”

“No?” The Healer shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. When are you from—what point in time in regards to Obi-Wan?”

Qui-Gon hesitated, but Obi-Wan was still resolutely keeping his gaze on the floor. “Obi-Wan was forty-four.”

“Twenty years. Oh, that is a hot mess and I am _not_ dealing with that,” Ra’um-Ve muttered. “But, that does mean you are completely unaware of certain events.”

“What makes you so sure?” Qui-Gon asked.

Ra’um-Ve’s smile was borderline smug. “Because this little shit is one of the most reticent bastard patients I have ever had to work with.”

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan grumbled.

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “Does he know about Naboo, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s head lowered, an old tell that spoke of avoidance. “He knows about Droga.”

“But not Sidious?”

Qui-Gon felt ice crawl up his spine. That could not possibly be good.

“No.” Obi-Wan’s left hand, resting on the arm of the chair, had curled into a tight, white-knuckled fist.

“How close are you to having a flashback right now?” the Healer asked, leaning forward in her seat, nearer to Obi-Wan but still not quite within touching distance.

“I-I-I’m n-not—” Obi-Wan clenched his jaw to cut off the sudden, frightening stutter. Qui-Gon rose in from his chair in alarm, but Obi-Wan held up one shaking hand. He was white in the face, paleness born of terrible emotional upset. “Very.”

“I thought so,” Ra’um-Ve said. “Was it—”

“Please don’t,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Don’t say the words.”

Ra’um-Ve bit her lip in sympathy, but plowed onward, just as brazen as any Healer when they deemed their work necessary. “Leaving this kind of trigger undealt with is _not safe…_ but if that’s what you really want, I won’t say it.”

“I don’t want you to,” Obi-Wan said, looking up at her with a watery smile. “Do it anyway.”

She pursed her lips. “Do I have your permission?”

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon, a faint hint of gold in his eyes. Then he gave her a jerking nod.

“Does the flashback entail how Sidious destroyed the block, or what came after?”

Qui-Gon felt his blood turn to ice, horrified. Worse, the Healer’s words tipped Obi-Wan into an immediate flashback—he curled over, hand clasped to his belly, and let out an agonized shriek.

Qui-Gon was standing, and yet the Healer still got to Obi-Wan first, catching him before he could topple out of the chair. Qui-Gon helped her lower Obi-Wan to the floor, but kept his Padawan’s head and torso supported and off of the cold stone. It was a kindness that Obi-Wan was entirely unaware of. His body was rigid, as if trying to fend off an enemy only he could see.

The Healer grimaced when Obi-Wan let out another choked scream, his hand still clutched to the place where Qui-Gon knew was a lightsaber scar. “My poor dear,” she murmured, taking Obi-Wan’s free hand. “Talk to him.”

Qui-Gon nodded, running his hand through Obi-Wan’s hair, speaking repeated assurances that the Healer occasionally chimed in on. The flashback was not very long, perhaps a few minutes at most, but he felt the time crawl by as if it were long hours.

Obi-Wan slumped against him when it was done, grey in the face and possibly unconscious—Qui-Gon wasn’t quite sure. He was breathing in pained gasps, tears still leaking from beneath closed eyelids.

“Gods, love,” Qui-Gon whispered, wiping Obi-Wan’s face with his fingers. He glanced up at the Healer, who was giving him a look of complete understanding. “That was terrifying.”

Ra’um-Ve nodded. “I am going to be so happy when someone kills that fucking Sith Lord.”

Qui-Gon felt nauseous. “Sidious tortured him. It wasn’t enough to destroy the block, Sidious had to…” He couldn’t quite say it, and wasn’t sure if he even wanted to voice the idea at all.

“I’d always suspected so, just from the way Obi-Wan blocked most of it out.” Ra’um-Ve stroked Obi-Wan’s face, pushing sweaty strands of hair away from his eyes. “Psychological torture, we didn’t doubt, but Terza told me the lightsaber wound had been reopened, probably with a blunt instrument.”

Qui-Gon heard a whisper, but couldn’t quite make out the words. He glanced down to find Obi-Wan’s eyes open, but unfocused.

“What was that?” Ra’um-Ve was still stroking his face. Not just creature comfort, but some sort of Healing work, judging by the glow in her fingertips. “What did you say, Obi-Wan?”

“Fingers,” Obi-Wan said in a clearer voice. He was no longer gasping for breath, but there was a complete lassitude to his limbs that he suspected was Ra’um-Ve’s doing. “Fingers are…fingers are blunt.”

“He shoved—” Ra’um-Ve bit back whatever she was going to say, but Qui-Gon still felt the flare of rage, acknowledged and released. It was a fair complement to his own. “What did he tell you, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan shuddered. “He said…he said he wanted my attention.”

“Well, he certainly has mine,” Ra’um-Ve said in a mild voice. Obi-Wan was weeping again in silence. Qui-Gon brushed away more tears and felt like his heart was going to shatter.

“Is this the same flashback as the one you had a few days ago?” Qui-Gon asked. He was almost certain he knew what the answer would be.

Obi-Wan’s nod was barely movement at all. “Last one was. The others weren’t…weren’t really related.”

Ra’um-Ve squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand. “Tell me what they involved, Obi-Wan.”

“Just flashes.” Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed as he attempted to concentrate. “They were….they were all water. Drowning.”

Ra’um-Ve raised an eyebrow. “And you really think they were unrelated?”

“Guess not,” Obi-Wan admitted.

Qui-Gon bit his lip against an emotional tirade of vitriolic swearing. “Ord Mantell was not supposed to become a habit, Obi-Wan.”

“Didn’t mean for it to be.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “Stop putting me to sleep, Rava.”

“You need it, idiot,” Ra’um-Ve replied, and smiled in victory when she won the argument by succeeding.

“Should someone stay?” Qui-Gon asked, after Ra’um-Ve had followed him to the rear bedroom and seen Obi-Wan into bed.

She shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t want him to sense anyone nearby and think he needs to wake up before my repairs are done.”

Qui-Gon waited until they were back out into the hall, door closed behind them, before he asked. “Repairs?”

The Healer rubbed her eyes. “Repairs. Blasted fuck, why am I tired?”

Qui-Gon guided her to a chair and then pressed a mug of fresh tea into her hands. “Being dead does not make you an uninterruptible, unlimited fountain of energy. It’s just a new form.”

“That makes sense.” Ra’um-Ve sipped tea until the slight trembling in her hands ceased. “I was repairing old damage that I couldn’t access before, not when he couldn’t remember it. That memory is sitting all but right on top of the fracture lines from that damned block being blown apart.”

“That should have killed him,” Qui-Gon whispered, stunned.

“If there had been no other Jedi nearby? If he had not managed to use up the energy released by the block’s destruction?” Ra’um-Ve nodded in sober recognition of his words. “It would have, yes.” She gave him a searching look. “You need to tell me what happened to make those scars light up again.”

“He was fracturing,” Qui-Gon said in a low voice. “Not nearly as dramatically as the first time, but…it was still happening.” He had always been good at remembering details, though he never enjoyed it when the skill was put to use in this particular fashion. She listened, only commenting to ask questions and clarify details. Ulic joined them before it was done, grim-faced.

“I always hated the repeat flashbacks,” Ulic said, when he heard what he’d missed. “They were the absolute worst, because it always felt like a terrible step backwards.”

“Not unless you refuse to face them.” Ra’um-Ve was leaning back in her chair, on the verge of falling asleep. “It hurts, but better that than refusing to cope at all.”

“I _did_ refuse to cope at all,” Ulic said, wry smile on his face. “Take my bedroom, Healer. It’s the first door off the hallway.”

“Oh, blessed gods, thank you,” Ra’um-Ve said in a fervent voice, pushing herself up out of the chair and making her unsteady way to the room in question.

When the door had shut behind her, Ulic turned and gave Qui-Gon a look of complete frustration. “I’ve been tracking events a few days ahead of time, trying to keep an eye out for more surprises.”

Qui-Gon nodded; neither of them wanted any more surprises like the ones created by Entroija and his father. “Did you find a problem?”

Ulic sighed. “Unfortunately. When you go back where you belong, there is something I’ll need you to do.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“We’re going to have to get you past that trigger,” Ra’um-Ve told him the next day.

Obi-Wan had barely managed to get enough caffeine into his system to be coherent, much less handle the pounding heartbeat and cold sweat her words left him with. “Your timing is miserable.”

“My timing is fine,” Ra’um-Ve countered. “And I have plenty of it, now. Are you willing?”

Obi-Wan lowered his head so his face could rest on the dining room table. “Willing, but not eager.” He didn’t dare leave something like that untouched. It would be too easy for someone—Sidious in particular—to exploit.

“Nobody would be, dearheart,” Ra’um-Ve said. “But, first things first.”

Submitting to a Healer’s physical evaluation was so much easier than contemplating Sidious, or flashbacks in general. Ra’um-Ve pestered him about the green lines that had plagued his skin until Obi-Wan finally volunteered to strip completely naked just to prove that the damned things were gone.

“Did you ever discover what they were?” she asked him, curious.

Obi-Wan put his shirt back on. She hadn’t been happy until she’d made certain he had no lingering damage from being stabbed with the binding blade, either. The best part of that moment, aside from not remembering the event in question, was that there was no scarring. He had enough scars mapping his skin; it was nice not to have yet another.

“I think corruption is still the best answer,” he answered, after thinking about it for a moment. “I wasn’t actually…deteriorating.”

“Rotting,” Ra’um-Ve said. Obi-Wan gave her an unhappy glare. “Honesty is important, not unless you want that become another verbal trigger, Obi-Wan. You have too many of them already.”

“It’s probably too late for that,” he muttered.

“You’re whinging,” she replied, not unkindly. “Physically, you are doing well. How was the neurochemical afterburn?”

“Depression,” Obi-Wan said, grimacing. “Among other flares of temper.”

“I’m not surprised.” Ra’um-Ve gave him a look of frank appraisal. “You’re probably going to have recurrent periods of both for months. As it is, I’m amazed that you got through the initial stage with only one serious bout of suicidal ideation.”

Obi-Wan held up his left arm, his shirt sleeve falling down enough to reveal the start of blue and green ink. “Vivid reminders of why I shouldn’t helped quite a bit with that.”

Ra’um-Ve started her flashback goal by asking Obi-Wan about the event in question. He wasn’t set off by the mention of it again, but the first time he tried to answer a question, he blanked out and came back screaming. It felt like he was being stabbed all over again.

Obi-Wan had several more bad flashbacks over the next few days. Sometimes they were fragments of other events, things he’d already remembered and tried desperately to forget, but more often than not, it was Naboo, and Sidious. The first was tiring enough. The rest left him completely exhausted, and knew he looked it. Qui-Gon had developed a grim sort of watchfulness; Obi-Wan suspected it was reminiscent of too many decades of playing quiet witness to the fall of the Republic.

Fieff came back around noon on the second day, popping into existence in the courtyard. “What the hell is that green swirly thing?”

“Dead Sith Lord,” Obi-Wan said, without looking up from the book he held. He’d been working on figuring out the full translation of the text, when he wasn’t being tortured by a brilliant, stubborn Healer. It was more fascinating than he’d expected.

“Seriously?” Fieff plopped down on the bench next to him. “What’d you do to him?”

“Destroyed his anchor point and gave him a true death.”

“Threatened one of us, huh?” Fieff guessed.

Obi-Wan glanced up, unable to keep from smiling. “Yes.”

“Ah, there’s the scary bastard,” Fieff said, pleased. “I knew he was still in there somewhere. Whatcha reading?”

“A history,” Obi-Wan said. “Or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a collection of autobiographies.” He was almost certain he’d finished the translation for the first one. Only the effort of deciphering it kept him from reeling at what he’d learned.

“Ooooh.” Fieff’s grin was huge. “Story time!”

Obi-Wan considered it. “That might be a good idea. Go scare up the others, would you?”

“Sure!” Fieff vanished; a moment later, Obi-Wan heard Ra’um-Ve shriek.

“You complete fucker!” the Healer shouted, and not even stone walls could muffle the sound of Fieff getting clobbered.

“I didn’t mean literally,” Obi-Wan murmured, ducking his head to hide another smile.

“Colm says you’re going to read us a story,” Ulic said, walking out of the house. “Also, that man can’t stop teleporting everywhere he goes.”

“He’ll get used to the novelty soon enough,” Obi-Wan said. Ra’um-Ve came out of the house, scowling. Fieff followed, still grinning despite the blossoming bruise on his face.

Qui-Gon joined them after another minute, giving Fieff an amused look. “Did you learn a lesson?”

Fieff shook his head. “Nope.”

“You are the spawn of a Hutt’s cloaca,” Ra’um-Ve said.

Ulic’s eyes widened. “For fuck’s sake, Kid, start reading before someone comes up with something worse than that.”

Obi-Wan paged back to the beginning of the first section, just after the imprinted Je’daii Code, and began to read:

_“I am Spetaddik. These are my words; know that none other speaks but me. Long have I dwelled upon this world, my own homeworld a distant memory that haunts me in my final years._

_I am the eldest of my kind. Many are the legends that surround the Je’daii whom I call my people. Such things amuse me, for few of them are steeped in truth. Our origins are fading, and I begin to believe that none want to remember them._

_The young ones say the great pyramids that host our Temples are magic vessels, sent by the Force to bring us together to live as we do. They were sent by the gods, to rescue us from bondage. The pyramids will never crumble; they are immortal structures and will always shelter us._

_Such is the way of young ones. I myself sired many, and trained a great many more in the way of Balance, and they grow more fanciful with each generation that passes._

_I remember the truth because I lived it. I was of the first who came to this world. All those who were with me are long departed now, embraced by the Force. I was of the first, and I will be of the last of our children’s forbearers to depart._

_No magic vessels came to relieve us from bondage, though it is true that bondage was the yoke we suffered under. The Rakata enslaved all who were not of their kind, using our bodies and our lives to feed their ambitions._

_It was the Rakata who revealed to us that the Force existed. Now the Rakata are gone, but we endure._

_The Rakata were strong in the Force. They harnessed its power for their ships and their machines. All were bringers of Darkness, for the Rakata did not know Balance, and foreswore the Light._

_Then came those who realized that the Force was not only a tool of the Rakata. We embraced the Force as it was, in its Light and in its Darkness. The first of us to learn to See taught others, and those students taught students of their own, until we were a tiny faction trapped within the might of a realm that would eventually become a Dark and terrible Empire._

_The Rakata learned of our existence. The Rakata swore to destroy us, seeing us as a threat to their power, these slaves who dared to touch the power of their gods._

_The Temples that are our homes were not sent by the Force, or gods, or any savior. We crafted them ourselves, in daring secrecy. They are now structures, but once they were ships, great and strong. Nine remain, but at first, there were twelve._

_The Rakata found those three. Some days I still weep for their deaths._

_With those ships, we meant to rescue all our brethren, all those who could learn of the Force and its Balance. We launched our hope, and left behind those who could not See._

_I did not consider it then, being so very young, but now it shames me to know that we abandoned our peoples to servitude, all in the name of some higher calling. The galaxy needed for us to learn our strengths, but only when the Rakata came for us at last did we fight on their behalf._

_We came to this world, our group of straggly refugees, a place we thought to be a haven. The Force is strong here, and ever will be, but the pull of Tython’s moons always threatens to rip us asunder. Ashla and Bogan. Light and Dark. They are a harmony of the physical that we must ever mimic with the mystical._

_The Dai Bendu gave us our name, for we represented their mystic center. The first of us came as Journeyers, but soon the young ones, our rangers, were calling us Masters._

_We did not like it, not at first. It was too mindful of the cruelty of the Rakata, those who had once demanded we call them thus._

_Youth and reverence won out, as it often does. We Masters retaliated, and our young ones became Rangers; their students become Journeyers themselves, when they come of age. Before that time they are Padawans, students to Masters and Rangers. Only the young ones, the initiates to our ways, bear no title._

_I saw our great vessels receive their names, something we had not granted them upon their creation: Kaleth, Temple of our Wisdom; Vur Tepe, the great Forge; Anil Kesh, great hall of science; Akar Kesh, our Temple devoted to Balance; Mahara Kesh, the Temple of Healing; Qigong Kesh, home of skill; Stav Kesh, Temple of the warrior; Bodhi, Temple of creation; Padawan Kesh, home of our children._

_The young ones think it has always been that way. They smile at me when I say otherwise, indulging me in my ancient dotage, but I will have my quiet revenge._

_There are new Temples being constructed, larger and meant to accommodate what the old vessels cannot. Soon these new places will bear those honored names, and our old ships will truly be mystic curiosities. New generations will come to believe that it has always been this way, and indulge the ancient Masters when they say it was once otherwise._

_I was born Kittadrrl of Kashyyyk, she of the swiftly moving sky. Since my first century I have been Spetaddik, legendary guardian, Temple Master of Bodhi. I am one thousand, one hundred fifteen years old._

_I have seen the rise of my Order from the dredges of slavery. I have seen the rise and fall of a great and terrible Empire._

_It is my great pleasure to write these words before I embrace the glory of the Force.”_

 

*          *          *          *

 

They tried to talk about the translated text before Fieff returned to Entrios, awaiting Grierseer’s departure for Ord Varee. Every attempt sputtered to a halt within a few minutes. Ulic was ancient from their perspective, but he and Obi-Wan estimated that the Wookiee Master Spetaddik had lived at least thirty thousand years ago. It was too vast a period of time, too much of a gap in their history.

Then there was the ancient Master’s repeated affirmation of Balance. The Je’daii had become Jedi, and those Jedi had resolved themselves to the Light, abhorring Darkness, but none of them knew _why._

On the first day of the fifth month, Obi-Wan finally managed to talk about those long, terrible minutes in Sidious’s company from start to finish. He couldn’t look at anyone while doing so, and his voice continually broke when the words didn’t want to come. More than once he would just stop and break down into dry, heaving sobs.

There was so much fucking horror that had happened in his life. He didn’t understand why this one thing kept breaking him.

“Because it literally broke you,” Ra’um-Ve told him, when he finally gave in and mentioned it to her. “This is the very first thing that happened after the block was destroyed. The memory would have been awful no matter what, but the fact that the block’s destruction coincided with the event, that it was Sidious himself who hurt you, means that damage and memory meshed.”

“In short, I’m fucked,” Obi-Wan said, trying not to feel bitter.

“No.” Ra’um-Ve gave him a stern look. “Stop being defeatist.”

“Rava, I’m—” _Tired,_ he tried to say, but his voice cracked again.

“I know, and you should be,” Ra’um-Ve said. She gave him a look of quiet sympathy, but there was no pity in it. “Tomorrow is the day that you catch up with yourself—and I’m still ignoring how weird that is, by the way.”

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan said, thinking of the time dilation. Qui-Gon was certain of the date, and Ulic was certain that Qui-Gon was correct, but Obi-Wan didn’t trust Mortis not to meddle.

“Approximately one day, then,” Ra’um-Ve allowed. “I’m going to lay off and give you the chance to recover, but you must promise to come and tell me if some new stimuli causes a flashback. I mean that, Obi-Wan,” she insisted in a stern voice, when Obi-Wan only gritted his teeth.

“I will, Rava,” he said, relenting.

“Good. When you go back to where all the normal people are, find yourself a competent Mind Healer. You _have_ to follow up on this, Obi-Wan. You’re not through dealing with the things Sidious did to you, no matter how much you’d rather bury your head in the sand and pretend otherwise. I might turn up on occasion to pester you, but I won’t be near as useful as I am here on Mortis.”

The moment he escaped Healer clutches, Obi-Wan went down the stone stairs and walked barefoot across the sand. He sat down on the beach at the border between dry and wet, staring at the water. He felt absolutely wrung out, but he also thought that maybe when he’d recovered from this latest mental beating…maybe he might feel a bit more balanced.

_Literally_ , he thought, frowning. He’d tried not to dwell much on the Prophecy, or on the idea that this iteration might depend upon a broken Jedi with Sith training and an awful temper.

Qui-Gon came and joined him towards dusk, sitting down at Obi-Wan’s side. Obi-Wan leaned against him, gratified when he felt Qui-Gon’s weight settle against him in return. They weren’t dancing around each other anymore, not exactly, but sometimes the only way to avoid the temptation had been distance.

“What’s on your mind, Ben?” Qui-Gon asked in a quiet rumble, one that soothed his nerves. His eyes must have been shining again.

“I was just realizing that I am staring at a pristine patch of warm ocean, and yet in the entire time I’ve been here, I’ve never gone swimming in it.” Obi-Wan smiled. “Well, aside from the swimming I did after the cliff collapsed.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Not that I know of,” Obi-Wan said. “Or maybe I’m worried that there really is a giant blue squid out there, lying in wait to ‘play.’”

“Still aren’t sure if it was real, hmm?” Qui-Gon’s laugh was soft, more breath than sound.

“No.” Obi-Wan stood up. “One way to find out,” he said, and held out his hand.

Qui-Gon gave him a doubtful look. “I don’t know if—”

“It’s just swimming, and our control isn’t _that_ bad.” Obi-Wan wriggled his fingers. “Come on. You’re the one who kept telling me to live in the moment. This is one of them.”

Qui-Gon smiled at him and took his hand, letting Obi-Wan pull him up from the sand. “If this results in us breaking things, I’m blaming you.”

“Well, I’ve already broken _me,_ ” Obi-Wan replied, pulling his shirt up over his head. “That’s probably quite enough.”

“Quite,” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan watched his throat move and realized that as distressing as the subject matter was, it was bare skin that Qui-Gon had his eyes on.

Perhaps it was best that both underwear and leggings remained on. Thick-cloth trousers or leather, he would have refused to swim in, but he’d stand the minor annoyance for his Master’s sake.

Granted, when Qui-Gon removed his tunics, Obi-Wan realized he was going to have much the same problem. He turned and marched resolutely into the water. There was control, and then there was absolute temptation.

The ocean was warm, closer to lukewarm bathwater. It was quite the opposite from the icy waves that broke against the cliffs. Obi-Wan dove into the water without waiting to see if he was being followed.

The moment the ocean closed over his head, Obi-Wan felt an immeasurable amount of peace, something he hadn’t been able to attain since Fire. It was serenity of thought, the relaxation of muscle and complete ease of tension. He hadn’t known he’d suffered under such a crushing weight until it was suddenly gone.

_Obi-Wan?_

Obi-Wan broke the surface, shaking his head to sling hair and water from his face. “Qui, you fucking well _have_ to try this.”

Qui-Gon was standing hip deep in the water a couple of meters away, giving him a doubtful look. “Obi-Wan, you look like you are either high, drunk, or both.”

“I feel amazing, though,” Obi-Wan insisted. “Seriously. Try it.” Qui-Gon shook his head and dove forward, creating a wave that crested up and over Obi-Wan’s shoulders. He was tempted to submerge again, but decided to wait and see what his Master’s response would be.

He managed to wait almost two minutes before saying something. _I know that you’re dead and can’t actually drown, but you’re making me very nervous._

Qui-Gon rose up out of the water, a look of complete amazement on his face. “It’s a meditation pool. A meditation pool in a wellspring.”

Obi-Wan smiled; Qui-Gon’s pupils were blown wide open. “You look blissed out.” He also looked gorgeous, his hair unbound and falling past his shoulders in silvering, thick wet strands. There was an expression on his face that had often been absent from his Master—happiness.

Qui-Gon shook his head, water still streaming from his hair. “No, I think drunk is still more accurate. Force, that’s amazing. It’s like diving on Rishi.”

“In the river?” Obi-Wan asked, intrigued. Funny how he’d never given thought to the idea of swimming in it. The river had always seemed too mystical, too fantastic, to soil with a mundane activity.

“Yes. The _tellamere afon li,_ the _hak’ug gallie u tana’wae._ ” Qui-Gon was smiling, resting low enough in the water that his hair started to fan out.

Obi-Wan had heard the first term before, ages ago; the Rishii called the river The Life’s Blood. “What does the second part mean?”

“Commonly? River of Light, like I once told you. More specifically, it means Current of the Life’s Blood,” Qui-Gon replied. “That one came from the H’kig. Not much difference between the two when translated into Basic, but each name carries its own weight and meaning.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “They usually do,” he said. He was staring at water droplets on Qui-Gon’s face, and realizing he wanted to lick them off in the worst way.

He closed his eyes. _Cold water. Cold water. Cold water_. Not that his misbehaving anatomy was listening to him. The ocean was too warm for vague demands to have much effect.

“What is it?” Qui-Gon sounded amused. Obi-Wan heard the sounds of disturbed water moving closer as he approached.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes shut. “I’m just realizing that my control is really not that good.”

There was a long moment of quiet stillness, while Obi-Wan debated on retreating or outright teleporting. Then Qui-Gon’s hand came down on his chest—six points of hot contact, palm and fingertips.

“Nor is mine,” Qui-Gon murmured, and drew in a shuddering breath. “I should go.”

Make a decision. Make a decision. Make a gods damned—

Venge opened his eyes and stared at him. “I don’t want you to.”

“Ben.” Qui-Gon swallowed again, the long line of his throat moving in a way that was fascinating to watch. Most things were, at the moment. “We can’t. The potential for things to go wrong—”

“This is a wellspring,” Venge interrupted, not taking his eyes off of Qui-Gon. Instead, he touched the hand resting on his chest and then slid his fingers up the length of Qui-Gon’s arm, feeling water-slick skin and muscular hardness. It was hard not to shudder, and that was merest touch. “It’s not going to happen because we shall _will it_ not to happen.”

“There’s no guarantee that would work,” Qui-Gon said, but it felt like token protest.

Venge smiled. “Yes, there is.” He lifted his hand and rested it on the back of Qui-Gon’s neck. Qui-Gon shivered at the touch, the reaction of a man at the fringes of his control. “Say no,” he whispered. “Say no at any time, and I’ll stop.”

“And what if you say no?” Qui-Gon asked. The pupils of his eyes had flared again, the blue almost lost to black.

“I’m not going to,” Venge said, and drew him down until their lips met. Qui-Gon let out a low groan of complete abandon and sealed their mouths together.

Venge gasped, mouth opening, and was delighted when Qui-Gon thrust his tongue inside. He didn’t think this was going to be a gentle coupling. There was too much of the old anguish, too much keening _need_.

Venge wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck and shoulders and held on, keeping Qui-Gon from pulling away as he prolonged the kiss, an open-mouthed exploration. It was familiar, something he’d missed so fucking much, and yet it was entirely new.

Qui-Gon grasped his ass with both hands and pulled Venge up in an unexpected, rough movement. He wrapped his legs around Qui-Gon’s hips, making a desperate sound when cloth-trapped, resounding hardness pressed against his own.

“Gods,” Qui-Gon rasped, breaking the kiss and pressing his face against Venge’s shoulder. “Gods, but I wanted you. I’ve wanted you since you were twenty, you and your boundless confidence and terrible puns and—” He broke off, his hands squeezing and kneading Venge’s ass. “You and your magnificently shaped rear end.”

Venge hadn’t thought it possible for words to make him feel like he was going to come right out of his own skin. “Gods, Qui!”

Qui-Gon’s lips nuzzled the sensitive skin of Venge’s neck before his teeth latched on, drawing a shout from him as his hips bucked. Qui-Gon licked the spot where teeth had bruised. “There were nights when I couldn’t _sleep_ for thinking of you,” he whispered.

“Beach,” Venge said, after he gathered his fleeing thoughts. “Beach, beach, beach, or I will drag you there.”

Qui-Gon did as ordered without letting go of him. “You are demanding.”

Venge smiled. “You have no idea,” he said, and then dropped his leg to kick the back of Qui-Gon’s knee. Qui-Gon’s eyes widened as his legs folded, sending them both tumbling down onto the sand.

There was a short wrestling match in which Venge proved to be the victor, mostly because he was willing to cheat. He pinned Qui-Gon in place with the Force, holding his entire body down against the ground so that Venge could perch on top of him.

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon protested, but there was a flare of lust in his eyes that Venge had known would appear.

Venge placed his finger on Qui-Gon’s lips. “Is that a no?”

Qui-Gon’s drew in a deep breath. “Not at all,” he said, and licked Venge’s fingertip.

“Oh,” Venge breathed, his eyelids fluttering at the unexpected response. He ran his hands down Qui-Gon’s chest, feeling muscles jump at his touch. Qui-Gon’s skin had always been darker than his, easily turning a deep golden brown in the sun. The contrast between the light gold of Venge’s hands and the darker burnish was fascinating, as was the look of complete captivation on Qui-Gon’s face.

He bent over and kissed Qui-Gon. It was the barest brush of lips at first, a deliberate teasing, before his tongue darted out and licked at Qui-Gon, returning the favor. Qui-Gon opened his mouth for another kiss, eager to be devoured.

Venge shoved his fingers into Qui-Gon’s wet hair, fisting it in his hands, pulling in the same moment as he shoved his tongue into his mouth. Qui-Gon moaned, a sound that settled in his cock and left him aching.

“Gods, do that again,” Qui-Gon gasped. Venge obliged him, pushing his fingers in deeper and pulling tight while they kissed. He darted in with his tongue, taunting Qui-Gon with in and out motions that mimicked what Venge desperately wanted.

“Tell me there is oil on this stupid island,” Venge murmured against Qui-Gon’s lips. He could feel that spark, that waiting potential, trying to sink into his skin. He mentally brushed it away; it would wait for the right time.

Qui-Gon’s jaw clenched when he shivered. “Free my hands, please.”

Venge did as he was asked, watching as Qui-Gon brought his hands together. After a moment, he opened his hands to reveal a small vial of clear oil resting in his palms.

“Creating things out of thin air, are we?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “No. I just had to remember where I put it.”

Venge plucked it from his hands. “Planning ahead?”

“More like furious masturbation,” Qui-Gon admitted, a faint flush on his cheeks.

“Well, then.” Venge deliberately sat back, so that his rear was resting on Qui-Gon’s groin. Qui-Gon let out a hissing breath at the contact. “The only thing left is to figure out how to get out of wet trousers without destroying each other’s dignity.”

Qui-Gon rested his hand on Venge’s thigh. Venge flinched when there was suddenly an utter lack of cloth, and nothing but bare skin between them. “That felt fucking weird.” He tilted his head. “I’m going to need those back at some point.”

“Not right now, though,” Qui-Gon pointed out, his fingers painting lines of heat along Venge’s thigh. Anticipation made him tremble, he wanted that touch so badly.

When Qui-Gon’s hand wrapped itself around his cock, he sighed into the touch, eyes closing. It was not quite right, the hesitancy of a hand unfamiliar with what he held, but fuck, Venge did not _care._

“Gods, but you’re beautiful,” Qui-Gon said in a low voice. He let out a rumbling purr, performing a centimeter-by-centimeter, torturously slow exploration. Venge bit his lip when Qui-Gon’s rough, callused thumb ran over the head of his cock, smearing pre-come and then using that slickness to massage the sensitive spot at the head of the glans.

His mouth fell open, eyes rolling back. “Oh, fuck, yes—yes, that is—”

“Good?” Qui-Gon sounded smug.

Venge placed his hand over Qui-Gon’s, stilling his movement. “Yes,” he said, panting for breath. “But not what I want.” He brought up Qui-Gon’s hand, and then, making sure he had the man’s attention, licked all traces of fluid from his thumb.

Qui-Gon growled, and the hard length trapped beneath Venge’s rear gave a great twitch of sublime interest. “That was—was—”

“Good?” Venge smirked at the glower he received. He pulled the stopper from the oil with his teeth and then began coating the first two fingers of Qui-Gon’s right hand. There was no scent, unlike some of his mate’s other finds, but that was all right. His senses were already full of salt and sea breeze, of sweat and musk. He didn’t need anything else.

Qui-Gon gave him a questioning look, rubbing his fingers together in query. Venge answered him by taking his hand and guiding it back until Qui-Gon’s hand was willingly curling around his ass cheek, fingers questing.

The first brush of oil-coated fingertip gave Venge a full-body shiver. “Both,” he ordered in a hoarse voice.

Qui-Gon’s lips parted at the command. His eyes were glazing over, lust turning the bright blue into a dark ocean. Then he pressed both fingers inside in a long, slow glide.

Venge let out a choked cry. “Oh, fuck, do _not_ stop!” he managed, when he sensed and felt far too much hesitation.

“Absolute tyrant,” Qui-Gon murmured, bending his fingers and stretching Venge in a pleasurable burn. Venge pushed back against his hand, impatient. “I understand exactly why I put up with you now.”

“Do you?” Venge stared down at him. His eyes weren’t burning, not like the caustic energy that had flooded his system. Instead, it felt like the warmth of a banked fire. “You tell me that I kept you awake at night. What did you think about?”

The fingers withdrew. Venge coated the first two and then the third with oil, giving Qui-Gon a pointed glance.

Three fingers at once, after so little stretching, felt like pain and bliss crashing together. Venge let out a long, sharp cry. The only thing that kept him from coming apart right then was clamping his hands down on Qui-Gon’s arms in a white-knuckled grip.

“I thought about you like this,” Qui-Gon whispered. His fingers moved, slow and intense, sliding back and forth as Venge rocked into the motion. “Flushed and gorgeous. Eyes glittering, mouth open, as I gave you the pleasure you’d never dared to ask for.”

Venge wasn’t so distracted that he couldn’t tease. “With the braid?”

Qui-Gon gave him a wry look of indulgence. “Obi-Wan, you would have been _offended_ if I’d come to you before you were Knighted.” Venge smiled; he would have been, but then, he’d been young and stupid. “Sometime afterward, once your hair had time to grow.”

Venge tossed his head so that a few wet strands of his hair fell forward, hanging down over his face. “Like this?”

Qui-Gon drew in a sharp breath. “Gods, yes. Like that.”

“How did you have me?” Venge asked. “What did you dream about, Master?”

There was another great twitch from the cock he had imprisoned, one that made Venge’s breath hitch. “Like this, sometimes,” Qui-Gon answered, his voice getting rougher, deeper, as he spoke. “Or on your back, willingly spread out beneath me and daring me to do something about it. And sometimes, sometimes you—”

“My first time with you, I fucked you,” Venge said. He poured oil onto his hand, watching as the animalistic glaze in Qui-Gon’s eyes grew deeper.

“I see.” Qui-Gon’s throat bobbed. “And the second?”

“You had me,” Venge whispered, and reached beneath himself to take hold of his mate’s large cock. Qui-Gon stifled a yell, the sound coming out as a strangled groan.

“How?” Qui-Gon was breathing hard now. His cock continually jumped against Venge’s palm.

“From behind.” He smiled, lips parting. “On my knees.”

Qui-Gon flung his head back against the sand. “By all the fucking _stars,_ Ben!” he shouted.

Venge took advantage of Qui-Gon’s slightly distracted state to lift up the cock he held, and sank down onto its full length. Qui-Gon’s hands clamped down on his hips; the cords on his neck stood out as he breathed out what sounded like a vicious string of curses.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, giving Venge a look of complete amazement. “I could have come from that alone.”

“I’m so very glad you didn’t,” Venge said. He shifted his weight forward and then back again, Qui-Gon’s girth stretching him even more.

Qui-Gon groaned again, his fingers tightening to the point of bruising on Venge’s hips. “Gods all, you are amazing.”

Venge lifted up and settled again, heat flooding his limbs. “What do you want, love? Tell me.”

Qui-Gon shivered before answering him. “I want to touch you. I want to watch you come apart.”

Venge swallowed hard, robbed of speech by those simple words. He took Qui-Gon’s right hand from his hip and guided it to his cock. His eyes closed when oil-slick fingers wrapped around him, letting out a moan of pure delight. Tingling fire danced across his skin.

“Gods,” Qui-Gon said again, the word coming out as a growl. “Ride me.”

Venge did so, starting with a rocking motion of his hips that made Qui-Gon’s left hand clamp down on his hip. He matched the pace of the hand fisting his cock, sweat breaking out on his skin. Every rise and fall sent fresh waves of fire throughout his body. He felt like he couldn’t breathe for it, gasping in great lungfuls of air as he came closer and closer. Qui-Gon’s grip on his cock was still too slow, too torturous. Not enough.

“Oh, gods, Qui, please—” he begged, desperate and just _wanting_.

Qui-Gon’s hand left his hip and came up to caress his face. Venge nuzzled into the touch, lips parting; he licked at the two fingers that quested into his mouth, drawing another low growl from his Master.

“Fuck,” Qui-Gon gasped. “Ben, please, please let me—”

Venge freed him from the Force grip. Qui-Gon surged up, wrapping his arms around Venge and claiming him in a searing kiss, all panting breath and moist heat. He opened his eyes to look at Qui-Gon. It was like trying to stare through a glorious haze, even though his vision was crystal clear. “Faster.”

Qui-Gon nipped at his lips, at the short bristle of hair on his chin, before rolling them over. It was Venge’s turn to lie on cool sand, to feel the crystalized grains scour his skin and strands of long wet hair soothe what was being burned. Qui-Gon thrust into him, a steady pounding that made him feel like he was on the verge of flying.

One final touch, Qui-Gon whispering his name, was all it took. Venge came with a strangled cry, his vision whiting out at the edges. He felt Qui-Gon’s own orgasm like an echo, their bodies rocking together a few more times before they stilled.

Qui-Gon was shaking as he rested his head against Venge’s chest. “Gods, Ben,” he whispered.

Venge blew out a long breath. When he lifted his arms, they were trembling. He put his hands on Qui-Gon’s back and eased him down until Qui-Gon was lying on top of him, a solid, heavy, reassuring weight.

“S’all right,” he managed, after a few false starts at putting words together. He ran his hands over Qui-Gon’s head, through his hair, down his broad back, and couldn’t figure out if he was soothing Qui-Gon or himself.

“I love you,” Qui-Gon said, voice thick and sorrowful. “And I am going to hate every single moment I am about to be forced to spend apart from you.”

Venge found himself blinking back tears. “Not yet, though.” He sighed. “Come on, up. Let’s get back into the water before we wind up stuck this way.” Qui-Gon’s laugh was watery, but genuine.

The ocean cleansed the physical and soothed the mental. Qui-Gon’s shaking gentled into the occasional shudder; Venge held him, their bodies cradled together in the water, and resolutely thought about nothing at all except the feel of his mate’s skin against his own.

The sun was setting by the time Qui-Gon asked, “Did we break anything?”

“Each other,” Obi-Wan said, his fingers still threaded through Qui-Gon’s silvered hair. “But nothing else.”

“Take us straight back to your bedroom, would you?” Qui-Gon rested his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I want to spend the rest of this night with you.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I would be very displeased with you if you’d suggested otherwise.”

They showered off salt water, the steam and heat helping to dispel any lingering ache. It was a temptation to try again, to turn comforting touches into caress, but then Obi-Wan yawned so hard that his jaw cracked.

Qui-Gon chuckled, lowering his head so that their foreheads rested together. “Just this,” he said in quiet voice. “Just be.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Say the rest?”

“Just be in this moment with me.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon awoke, surprised to find himself alone in the bed. It wasn’t yet dawn, but the light had the silvery gray quality of early morning that he had always found peaceful.

He dressed slowly, by hand and not by thought, aware of the gentle, intruding press of fate.

Obi-Wan was easy enough to find. He was in the sitting area, reclining in a chair with his clenched hand resting against his lips. Qui-Gon observed him for a moment, unnoticed; Obi-Wan was staring at the console room with a vacant look on his face.

_Mental disconnect,_ Qui-Gon thought, though that wasn’t quite accurate, either. Obi-Wan usually bore that blank face, that utter stillness, when he’d turned his thoughts inward to unravel a difficult problem, or to decipher a significant puzzle.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Obi-Wan blinked a few times and looked at Qui-Gon, the distant contemplation quickly replaced by sharp awareness. “No. We must be getting close to zero hour. I keep feeling like I should be holding my breath.”

“We are close, yes.” Qui-Gon hesitated. The words were harder to say than he’d anticipated. “I have to leave.”

Obi-Wan was surprised. “Now?”

“Yes. You’re already going to have to spend time listening to the echo of your own existence, and it’s probably wisest not to make that worse,” Qui-Gon said. It was true, and yet his words still rang like a hollow excuse.

Obi-Wan nodded. “That’s…yes, that’s going to be interesting.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come with me?”

Qui-Gon accepted the invitation, feeling an ache in his chest. Obi-Wan teleported them to the cliffs on the western side of the island. The pale violet of dawn was just touching the ocean-defined line of the horizon.

“It always fascinates me when planets have western sunrises,” Qui-Gon said, after Obi-Wan had pulled him down to sit on the rocky ledge.

“It is different, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan murmured. His head was resting against Qui-Gon’s shoulder, his right hand clasped in Qui-Gon’s left. His skin was warm, even through layers of cloth, but he was radiating melancholy that Qui-Gon would have felt even if he’d been Force blind.

“What’s wrong?”

“You remember that we talked about the layers beyond the gray place, and how they mean different things?” Obi-Wan sighed. “That first layer is as limiting as you have been told.”

“I’m sorry.” Qui-Gon felt the echo of an intense loneliness. “Was it so difficult, love?”

“I don’t see you again,” Obi-Wan said. “Not until after Taro Tre.”

“Oh.” Qui-Gon tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s hand. “Surely I would have said something to you, before…before that.”

Obi-Wan gave a slight shake of his head. “You didn’t. Or if you did, I still can’t remember it.”

“Twenty years, though—that does give us time between now and then, does it not?”

“A bit,” Obi-Wan said, but if anything, the sense of melancholy increased.

“Is that what changed your mind?” Qui-Gon asked. Obi-Wan lifted his head and glanced up at him. “About…about yesterday?”

“About Lifebonding potential versus the strength of the wellspring?” Obi-Wan smiled, but then his eyes flashed gold, and the smile turned bitter. “In a sense. I just couldn’t let you go back there, a witness to utter _misery_ , without giving you a light to brighten the darkness.”

“Well,” Qui-Gon said, attempting a lightheartedness that he didn’t feel, “it’s a very nice light.” He wanted to ask, but his instincts warned him not to.

He was going to find out what Obi-Wan meant soon enough.

That beloved spark of mischief returned to Obi-Wan’s silvered eyes. “That had better not become a euphemism.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “It would be an awful one, wouldn’t it?” Obi-Wan settled against him again, but his emotions seemed a touch more balanced, closer to calm instead of veering into abject depression.

They watched the sun rise in silence. Qui-Gon adjusted his sense of time until it seemed as if each passing second were minutes themselves. He wanted to savor this moment; he had a feeling that it was going to be another necessary bright spot against the darkness.

He waited until he could feel the press of too many things converging at once. “I have to go.”

“I know.” It was Obi-Wan who stood first, taking both of Qui-Gon’s hands and pulling him to his feet. There was a wistful expression on his face, just shy of the pensive brooding Qui-Gon had often witnessed on Tatooine.

Qui-Gon couldn’t stand seeing that look again already, not when he could still make one final attempt at doing something about it. He bent down and kissed Obi-Wan, a soft, feathery touch that lingered—more breath than movement, an act that felt sacred.

Obi-Wan drew in a calming breath and released it. “Go,” he whispered. “It doesn’t matter if you ask me then; I’m saying _yes_ now.”

It was funny how he’d never realized that stepping away, leaving Obi-Wan standing in this place, was going to be one of the hardest things Qui-Gon had ever done. “That’s not good enough, not for me. No matter what happens, _I will find you._ I swear it.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “I know you will.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Obi-Wan stared at the empty air in front of him. It was both separation and not, but for a little while, he couldn’t find it within himself to move at all.

He finally thought himself back to the house, and its stone courtyard. Ra’um-Ve and Ulic were waiting for him, varying degrees of sympathy marking their faces.

“It’s _fine,_ ” Obi-Wan insisted, though no one had said anything. “It’s just—”

“It’s still a separation,” Ra’um-Ve said in a gentle voice, and then hugged him.

Obi-Wan flinched, at first, before putting his arms around her and returning the embrace. He was shaking, but he refused to grieve, not when he was so close to being back on his own damned path again.

He spent the morning pacing the house, courtyard to hallway to upstairs salle and back down again. He couldn’t settle, not with the growing pressure against his thoughts and the damned ants crawling beneath his skin.

“Just try and breathe through it,” Ulic advised, but he looked both stressed and sympathetic.

“How the hell did I not notice this the first time?” Obi-Wan asked. He tried to do as Ulic said, but it was only a moment before he was on the move again, pacing a circle around the house’s sitting area.

“With Fire eating you alive?” Ra’um-Ve snorted. “I’m surprised you were aware of _any_ external stimuli beyond what was sitting directly under your nose, Obi-Wan.”

That was a very good point. He might have noticed Entroija sooner if he hadn’t already been all but done in. Then again, Ulic had missed that, too.

“ _Is_ this safe?” Ra’um-Ve asked, after watching Obi-Wan make another few laps. “I seem to remember tales of implosion. You know, the same matter occupying the same space.”

Ulic chuckled. “No, it’s never that dramatic. Blasted science fiction. It’s all about awareness of self, something that’s amplified exponentially by the strength you have in the Force.”

“Or if you’re sitting in a damned wellspring,” Obi-Wan muttered, hugging his arms tight to his rib cage in order not to try and claw his skin off.

“That, too. I met myself once, though it was a complete accident,” Ulic said. “The crawly sensation made it really hard to convince my younger self that he was dreaming. Fuck, but that was an awkward moment.”

When the pressure abruptly ceased, Obi-Wan almost dropped to his knees in relief. “Oh, fuck. Bloody buggering _fuck_.”

Ra’um-Ve made a face. “Not literally, I hope.”

“You’ve spent too much time with Fieff,” Obi-Wan said, lowering his head and enjoying the concept of breathing without feeling mentally crushed.

“What now, Kid?” Ulic asked.

“I’m going to go out, find everyone else, and bring them here,” Obi-Wan said. “Emmaltine is still lurking nearby, and I don’t trust her not to continue Isuheel’s fuckery.

“Then I’m going to try to figure out how to keep the library upstairs from being torched.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Flashback stuff related to the last chapter, i.e. physical and psychological torture--Sidious being Sidious.


End file.
